#and had to hard stop that train of thought

[athenalvss]

Omg I just stumbled onto your page after reading your “Flashancy” fic. It was so cute! If you don’t mind me asking could I ask for a follow up after that? Like the months of bat!sis pregnancy, how everyone helps, Damian glaring daggers at Wally if she even so much as sniffles, and how Wally through his panic steps up when it’s time for the baby to be born? 💕💕

DONT BE WALLY PLEASE (Wally west! )

summary: Everyone accompanies the young couple during your pregnancy.

pairing: Wally west x batsis reader

1 part - open request - Wally masterlist

Month 3

After the announcement, the initial chaos gave way to a tense calm, like the silence that comes after a storm... although everyone knew that the worst, or the best, was yet to come.

The mansion felt different. Not in any specific way, but in the small details. Conversations lowered their volume when you entered a room, as if everyone was trying to size you up. There were constant glances, some concerned, others simply curious. And a silent care in the air. As if everyone, subconsciously, knew there was now something fragile between you, something precious.

Now you were spending more time with your family when you weren't with Wally, because none of them wanted to miss the progress of your pregnancy; it was the first time they had experienced it so closely.

Coffee disappeared from your cup and was replaced by mild infusions. Training was replaced by short walks. Nights on patrol became quiet dinners with Wally, who went out of his way to learn how to accompany you, even though he still forgot basic things like how strong smells now made you nauseous.

No one talked much about the baby because, well, they don't know much about pregnancies. But someone was always nearby. There was always a hand extended if they saw you hesitate on a step, an excuse to stop by to "check on you," even if it was just to sit in silence for five minutes.

Your father said almost nothing, but it was clear he was always attentive and looking after you in every way, from the reinforced security reports, to the health analyses reviewed with double attention, to how his gaze lingered on you a little longer than usual when he thought you weren't looking.

Wally, for his part, was on his own emotional roller coaster, but he was always there, worried and caring for you and his baby. He was there for every ultrasound, every appointment, every discomfort. He spoke to you tenderly even when you were irritable. He held your back when everything hurt. And he held you tight every night, as if that way he could protect you from everything.

Sometimes you cried, over small things like a song, an old photo from when you were a child, a smell. Sometimes you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. Your hormones were a mess, and you really hoped it would all pass quickly, but someone in your family was always willing to try different methods to ease everything you were going through.

And that was the greatest show of love you could ask for.

Month 6

By month five, pregnancy was no longer "news" or a "surprise." The whole situation had become normalized, or at least for you, because while you remained calm and didn't have to put up with anything, those around you seemed to be going through the pregnancy for you.

Dick treated you like you were made of glass, with slow hugs and gentle steps, as if you were about to shatter at any second. Tim filled the refrigerator with meals scheduled by calories and nutrients, having Alfred prepare the recipes he'd found.

Jason didn't say much. But he came by more often. Always with some other excuse: bringing you a soft blanket, a romance novel, and a box of homemade cookies. "Don't ask who made them, just eat them."

He didn't ask any questions. He just put his things down, leaned against the door frame, and said, "Is everything okay?"

And you nodded, and that was enough for him. But one night, as you shared ice cream in the kitchen, he looked at you sideways and murmured, "You're going to do just fine. And that baby... that baby is going to be lucky to have you for a mom."

"Thanks Jay"

And Damian...

Damian followed you like a hawk. He didn't say much, but he took note of everything. He checked your sleep schedule, your posture, what you ate, the room temperature. If you frowned, he'd already call Alfred.

More than once you found him standing in the middle of the hallway, fully dressed in his training robes, in the dark.

"Dami, you know I don't mind you coming to my house, but what are you doing there in the dark?"

"I'm keeping watch. If you get hungry at midnight, I'll be ready. And if that useless ginger falls asleep, someone has to be awake."

You rolled your eyes with a smile and closed the door, already accustomed to his Operation-like vigilance. But when you turned around, you found Wally lying next to you, face down, his head on your stomach and his eyes closed as if waiting for the universe to speak to him directly.

"Did you know the baby can already hear voices?" she asked suddenly, her voice filled with restrained excitement.

"Yes, I read that. And they can kick too."

"Kicking? Already?" he asked, sitting up slightly, excited. "Did you feel anything?"

"Sometimes. it's like... little bubbles. But I don't think you can see them from the outside yet."

Wally went completely still. He rested his cheek against your belly again and placed a hand gently on your skin, as if it were something fragile. "Hi, little one... it's me, Daddy, the one who's going to run by your side until you get tired of me. I promise."

And the first time the baby kicked him in the face, he froze. Then, with his eyes wide open and a mixture of shock and overwhelming love, he screamed at you. "He kicked me in the face! A kick! Right here!" He pointed to his forehead, completely overwhelmed.

"You sure?"

"Yes! Yes! It was real. It was… it was like, 'You silly old man, I heard you, let me sleep.' Do you understand what this means?"

"Were you beaten before they were born?"

"He recognizes me! My son recognizes me! I'm his favorite!"

You laughed so hard your tears flowed. Wally stared at you, grinning from ear to ear, then pressed his ear back against your tummy, hoping for another little kick, like a secret code between the two of you.

he stood there, whispering to them as you stroked his hair, your heart in knots and the absolute certainty that this baby was already loved. Deeply. Ridiculously.

Wally, with all his nerves, his clumsiness, and his uncontrollable enthusiasm, was ready. Or rather: he was learning to be ready. Step by step. Kick by kick.

And that night, as he fell asleep with his head on your belly, his arms wrapped around you with protective tenderness, you thought there was no safer place in the world than that.

Month 9

It was early in the morning. Of course it was early in the morning. You were in the kitchen, eating cereal straight from the carton because you didn't have the patience to find a bowl, when you felt the first contraction.

It didn't hurt that much. Yet. It was just a strange, uncomfortable pressure, like something big was about to happen. You knew right away.

"Wally..." you said calmly, as if you were letting us know you were out of milk. "I think it's time."

Wally, who was half asleep on the couch with a ridiculous duck blanket, raised his head, blinked, and paused. His face went from sleepy to completely panicked in a matter of seconds.

"Time? Time like 'we're going to the hospital' or 'just a little longer' or 'he's coming out now'?"

"Time to say 'grab your stuff and take me now.'"

Wally disappeared in the blink of an eye, running through the house. You heard him shout unintelligibly, stomp up the stairs, throw something that sounded very expensive, and then return with three bags. "We're ready!" he announced, his eyes wide, as if he'd just completed a level impossible mission.

"Wally… "you said with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

"Don't be nervous."

"Me? Nervous? No! I'm perfectly calm. Absolute control. Total serenity."

"One of his eyebrows was twitching."

"Wally. I'm fine. Nothing hurts yet."

"But it could hurt at any moment! That's what terrifies me! This can escalate in seconds! One minute you're eating cereal, and the next...!" he made an exaggerated gesture with her arms" BOOM! Baby!"

"Wally," you cut him off, grabbing him by the shirt. "Breathe."

He stood still. He looked at you. He took a deep breath. Again. And little by little, the color returned to his face. Then he hugged you, quickly, clumsily, with a kiss on your forehead that was more an apology than anything else. And then, with a flash and a gentle whirlwind, they shot off toward the hospital.

In less than half an hour, the hospital waiting room looked like a crime scene.

Alfred was at their side, with a folded blanket, a diaper bag, and a face that looked like he was going to take control of the situation if someone else panicked.

Bruce stood, serious, arms crossed, pacing. Every five minutes he asked for the doctor. "Have they said anything yet?"

And Dick and Damian… well.

"I'm just saying, if the baby has red hair, we're going to have to dye it," Damian said, his tone serious.

"We're not dyeing the baby, Damian. It's a baby," Dick replied with a sigh. "There's always the option of leaving it on the Kents' doorstep."

Wally, who had just gone back inside to get some water, froze in the doorway. He looked at them, offended, one hand on his chest. "Excuse me?!" he exclaimed. "What's with me today? I'm the father! You should want them to look like me!"

Damian didn't bother to look up. "That's precisely what we're all trying to avoid."

"I'm just saying," Dick repeated seriously, "that I appreciate your friendship very much despite everything, but I don't know if I want another Wally."

Just as he opened his mouth to continue complaining, the door opened with a subtle creak. The doctor came out into the hallway, his gown wrinkled, his mask hanging around his neck, his expression tired but warm.

"Miss Wayne's relatives?"

Everyone stood up instantly.

Even Bruce, who until that moment had remained in sentinel mode, motionless and silent.

The doctor nodded gently. "Everything went well. Mom and baby are healthy. It's a little boy."

The silence that followed was absolute. The only sound was Wally's glass falling to the floor.

And then Alfred sighed and smiled, his eyes moist. "Welcome, little West," he murmured. "We've been waiting for you."

Wally blinked. Once. Twice.

And suddenly, he burst into tears. he wiped his eyes with her sleeve without even realizing it. "Can I...?" hhe asked, his voice breaking. "Can I see them?"

The doctor nodded with a smile. "They're waiting for you."

Wally went out first. He didn't even run. He just walked quickly, as if he didn't trust his legs, as if the excitement was too heavy to move at his speed.

The others followed behind him, one by one, leaving the tension and nervousness behind, entering as a family.

And in the background, Damian murmured softly, not looking at anyone. "If he has his smile… he can stay too."

Dick patted him on the head. "Don't act tough, you'll spoil him in less than a week."

Damian didn't answer, but he smiled a little, just a little, as they walked toward the room where a new life had just begun.

[illyrianbitch]

An Honest Mistake

Pairing: Azriel x Illyrian! Reader

Summary: Lonely and bitter following Gwyn and Balthazar's mating ceremony, you and Azriel sleep together. As it turns out, one night is all it takes to change everything.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, slight angst, talks of insecurity and unrequited love, unprotected sex, both reader and az are intoxicated, pregnancy :o

Word Count: 4.4k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

There’s a slight wind in the air tonight. It itches at your back and stirs up old instincts—makes you want to fly, to sing, to stretch your body open to the cold licking at your skin. But you don’t. You rarely do, anymore.

Laughter floats from the temple below you—grand and carved from obsidian and moonstone, veiled in wisteria and soft, glowing magic. A place of beauty where Gwyn, eyes glassy and glowing, kissed Balthazar in front of the Mother and the stars and everyone who mattered.

Your body scoffs at the sound and you grit your teeth against the tight wave of jealousy that laces your limbs. The flask in your hand trembles slightly before you take another long sip, willing the taste to burn away your bitterness.

You should be better than this. Stronger. You’ve spent centuries trying to be. And yet, you couldn’t even make it through the ceremony. Slipped away like a coward and climbed up to the roof, crouched like some silent, forgotten thing with nothing to show but your envy and a flask of liquor that’s quickly running out.

You thought you’d prepared yourself. For the music. For the speeches. For the look in Gwyn’s eyes when Balthazar promised her forever. But none of it helped. Nothing could have prepared you for how quietly devastating this night would be— how utterly lonely and hollow. 

At first, it was interesting—to see the overlap of worlds. Night Court royalty, Illyrian warbands, Valkyries in training dressed in twilight-toned leathers. To see the high-ranking court members assembled under the same sky. To see the Cursebreaker’s sister cry happy tears as she embraced her newly mated best friend. To see the Illyrians stand beside Balthazar, wings wide, ceremonial blades strapped to their backs.

So similar to Azriel, to Cassian—born of the same mountain—but still so fundamentally different as well. The way they took up space. The way they looked at each other. 

But the novelty wore off quickly. After you hugged Balthazar, there was no one left to drift to. No one waiting for you in the crowd. Just the slow, dawning realization that you were crushingly, humiliatingly in love with a male who had just bonded himself to someone else for eternity.

Being immortal and lonely feels almost humiliating. Years and years of life and still—no connection. You’ve spent centuries rebuilding yourself, crafting new versions from the wreckage of the last— and somehow, the only person you ever truly wanted stumbled upon love without even trying. 

But that isn’t the truth. Not really. You know it’s unfair to keep entertaining the sentiment. Gwyn fought hard to be who she is. And Balthazar… gods, if anyone deserved peace, it was him. You’re happy for them, somewhere deep down. But not now. Not here.

Not when your throat burns from more than just the alcohol, and the shame of being this bitter, this unremarkable, clings to your ribs like smoke.

You drink again. And again. You scold yourself for being dramatic. For being weak. For being pathetic.

There’s a sound behind you—soft footfalls. You turn just as they halt.

Before you, stands Azriel.

Your spine straightens, that old Illyrian instinct curling up tight in your belly. You hate it—that impulse to look more composed in front of a male like him. That ridiculous, buried thread of deference your body still remembers from another life.

He hadn’t expected you. That much is clear from the way his body tenses, his steps halting mid-motion. The shadows curling around him twitch and pull inward, disappearing into the folds of his suit. The night swallows him easily.

“I’m sor—” he stops, adjusting. His shoulders pull back, wings settling higher. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

He sounds more polished than he looks—like he tried to summon formality but couldn’t quite finish the spell.

Azriel starts to turn.

And maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the envy in your ribs or the way your loneliness is humming just loud enough to override your shame. But you find yourself saying, “You can stay.”

He pauses. You nod to the space beside you. “I don’t mind.”

Azriel studies you. His gaze flicks from your eyes to your hands, your wings, your form. But it isn’t predatory, not like the others did back at the Camps. It’s not sexual. Not even curious. He isn’t calculating your worth as a female. He’s assessing a threat. Taking stock.

It’s strange, how openly he looks, but there’s something strangely comforting in it. He isn’t trying to hide the scan. Either he’s too tired to care, or he already knows you’re not a threat. 

You’ve met Azriel before. Shared rooms with him during the meetings Balthazar insisted you attend—when he filled in as Rhysand’s liaison to the more distant Illyrian camps. You’d crossed paths in training, too, when you’d said yes to Gwyn’s offer, relayed through Balthazar, to practice with the Valkyries. Make our stories count, Emerie had told you, glancing once at your wings—still intact, still stiff where they locked into your spine from disuse.

Azriel looks unconvinced, but once again, you feel compelled to make him stay. There's something about the look in his eyes, even from this far, that you feel a certain connection to. You lift your flask in offering. “I also have alcohol.”

You swear you catch the barest edge of a smile.

Azriel steps forward, pulling something from his coat. You flinch on instinct and you’re sure he notices. But all he produces is his own flask.

“Whiskey.” Azriel says.

You give him a small grin. “Gin,” you tell him, gesturing towards your hand. 

He nods, seemingly in approval, and joins you—leaning forward on the railing beside you. 

You stay that way for a while. Two bodies unwinding in the dark. Wordless, you pass flasks back and forth, letting your hands brush occasionally. 

It’s comforting, almost. To stand beside one of the most powerful males you’ve ever met and realize maybe you’re not the most pathetic person in the room. Maybe he’s just as wrecked as you are. Maybe that means there’s nothing wrong with you after all. Or maybe it means there’s something deeply, irreparably wrong with him, too.

But either way—you’re not alone in it. And that counts for something.

“So,” you say, curling into yourself slightly, “I’m assuming you’re here for the same reason I am?”

Azriel takes a sip, keeps his gaze on the view below. “And what reason is that?”

“You’re in love with Gwyn.”

He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he lifts a brow. “You’re in love with Gwyn?”

Your expression flattens instantly. But somewhere under the mortification, there’s a flicker of amusement. You hadn’t expected humor from him. It throws you. Never would you have believed he was capable of teasing. Not genuinely, at least. 

“Smartass,” you mutter. “You know what I meant.”

Something like a smirk flickers across his mouth. It dies quickly. But not before you catch the edge of it. Below, the music swells again. A louder cheer rises with it.

“They looked good together,” you say.

It’s a cruel thing to admit, but it’s true. A part of you hopes it stings him, just a little, so he’s hurting like you, too.

Azriel exhales through his nose. “They did.”

You nod slowly. Let the shame settle deeper into your chest.

“I hated it.”

That gets his attention. You feel it, even without looking—his gaze snapping back to you, the movement of shadows quickening at the corner of your vision. You don’t meet his eyes. You watch the stars instead.

“I hated all of it,” you add. “And I should’ve never come.”

“Why did you?”

“There’s only one thing worse than being a lonely immortal.” You glance at him. “Being a lonely and bitter one.”

Azriel is quiet for a long moment. He’s staring out ahead again. You think he won’t answer. But then he says—low, clipped, almost matter-of-fact:

“Bitterness is honest.”

You huff, almost amused. “Then I’ve been painfully honest my whole life.” A beat.  “Are you? Honest?”

His eyes meet yours. “Incredibly.”

Something stirs in you—something slow and sharp and dangerous. It coils low, sparked by the flicker of something darker that moves through his expression. A glint of hunger, maybe. A recognition. Or maybe just the memory that you are still something someone could want.

“How honest are you feeling tonight?” you ask.

His gaze drops to your mouth, then lifts. He takes in your form again, eyes lingering on your wings, pulled taut against your shoulder blades. You tilt your chin up, just slightly.

“They’ll be dancing,” Azriel says, turning away again. His voice is even. Distant. “Probably until sunrise.”

Cold embarrassment crashes through you like a wave. You feel stupid. Pathetic. You’ve just bared something small and raw and fragile and been dismissed by the Night Court’s infamous spymaster. Of course.

You push yourself upright.

“Then I’ll do myself a favor and end my misery now,” you mutter. “Go home. Drink in peace.”

Azriel doesn’t move. “That’s how you want to spend your night?” 

You shrug, even though he can’t see it. “You got a better offer?”

A long pause. “I do.”

You blink. He turns to face you fully. “Would you like someone to walk you home?”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

His mouth is on yours the second your front door shuts.

You stumble through the dark, limbs bumping into half-unpacked boxes and furniture that doesn’t belong to you. The apartment is mostly empty—somewhere Balthazar helped you find, helped you settle into. It’s minutes from him. From Gwyn. From all the things you didn’t want to be near and somehow ended up close to, anyways.

Azriel kicks the door shut behind him without looking. His shadows slither forward before he does—like they’re checking the space for him, brushing over your arms, your ribs, curious and cold. His hands follow just behind them, warmer, rougher, pressing beneath your dress as you push blindly toward the bedroom.

You drag him with you by the front of his jacket, breathless, your wings twitching with every step, the sensitive membranes catching the edges of doorframes and walls. His wings flare slightly when you back him into the hallway, knocking a box over with your foot, but neither of you bothers to look.

He drags his mouth down your throat and you tilt your head without thinking. Your dress slips off in a single motion—he pulls, you let it go. He loses the jacket first, then the shirt, and you press your mouth to his collarbone just to see what it tastes like.

His breath stutters.

Then he crowds you again. His hands slide under your thighs and lift you up immediately. You don’t even think—you just wrap your legs around his waist and let him carry you the rest of the way, letting out a noise when your back hits the edge of the bed.

You reach for him instinctively, dragging him down with you.

Your wings drag behind you on the sheets, too sensitive from how worked up you are—already twitching. One of his shadows curls low and drags across the arch of your wing like it’s exploring. You shudder.

It’s… strange. Intimate. The cool ghost of a touch that isn’t quite physical. Something alive—sentient — that shares a mind with the male above you. At least, that’s how you’ve always assumed it worked. You’d never really put much thought into how his abilities translated into the bedroom. There was never any reason to.

Until now.

Azriel’s bigger than the male you long for. Stronger. He feels different. Moves different. His hand dips between your thighs and your hips jerk instinctively. It’s been a while. Longer than you want to admit. And his fingers are—

"Fuck," you whisper, hips rolling up into his hand as he strokes through your folds.

Azriel hums against your collarbone, lips dragging along your skin. “You’re soaked,” he says, voice ragged, like it surprises him.

You press your lips together, half-humiliated, half aching for more. You try to think of a response, something clever or dismissive—but it isn’t needed. Azriel kisses you again, hungrier now, and parts your folds with two fingers, coating them in your slick. 

"Azriel—"

“Yeah?” His voice—fuck, his voice. “This what you need?”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders before you even register the movement. You whisper his name again—softer this time—as he moves lower, kissing his way down your body, past your ribs.

You can’t think.

You should be thinking.

But you’re not.

And when he slides two fingers inside you—slow, curling them deep—you make a sound you’ve never made before. Your whole body jumps. Your face flushes hot. Your eyes flutter shut as your thighs threaten to close around his hand.

He’s got you pinned. One hand fucking into you, the other spread wide over your thigh, holding you open. You turn your face into the side, press your forearm over your eyes. You don’t mean to hide, not really, but it’s instinct.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” he murmurs, charmed. “Tell me what you want.”

You shake your head, wordless, cheeks burning. 

“Have you never had someone talk to you like this?” His voice is soft with his conclusion, but his fingers thrust harder now, faster and filthy. “Someone to tell you how good you feel while they touch you?”

You shake your head, moaning. He’s right— he knows he is. You’ve never had someone this vocal. 

“No,” he says, darkly pleased. “That’s alright.” A kiss to the inside of your thigh. “I can fix that.”

He works you fast now — fingers pumping, thumb circling your clit — until you’re trembling, gasping, barely upright. You whimper and he groans.

“I liked that pretty sound,” he says. “Right there?”

There's heat licking up your spine, some roaring thing inside of you.

“Think you can take one more?” 

You nod, too far gone to speak, and his third finger circles your dripping cunt. His shadows tighten their hold. One strokes between your breasts, another curls beneath your knee, easing it higher. Opening you wider.

His thumb swipes over your clit, and you’re coming — hard — your body locking around his fingers as his shadows slither along your stomach, wrap around your thighs, coaxing the orgasm out of you like they’re worshiping you for unraveling under his touch.

You fall apart—body shaking, thighs clenching, mouth open in a silent cry—and Azriel holds you through it, fingers still working you gently through the aftershocks. He pulls out once you’ve stilled, drags his fingers along your thigh, and then licks them clean.

Well. Balthazar, for all his glory, had never done that. 

A second later, Azriel’s back above you, lips swollen, eyes dark and trained directly on you. You’re possessed to pull him into a messy kiss, hints of your taste still on his tongue.

You shift beneath him, needing more, and he pulls away just long enough to free himself. You watch through your lashes, biting the inside of your cheek. Gods.

Azriel is beautiful. It hits you in a sudden, painful way—like seeing something in too-bright light. The sight alone makes something in your chest twist. And you hate it. You hate that it makes you feel something at all. That this—him wanting you—makes you feel not just good, but alive.

Because if he wants you, if the infamous, untouchable Spymaster is here, looking at you like this, then maybe you’re not just something people pass over. If he needs you—desperate, hungry, barely holding it together—then maybe you’re worth needing.

It’s a self-indulgent thought. Pathetic, even. But you cling to it.

It’s only an added benefit that his cock is nearly as pretty as the rest of him. Thick, flushed, and heavy in his hand. Your cunt clenches just looking at it.

“You okay?”

You nod, breathless. He lines himself up, rubbing against you, teasing.

“Say it. Please.”

“Yes," you whisper. "I want you. I want you.”

Your words ease the tension between his brows and he thrusts into you in one smooth stroke. Your head falls back with a cry.

“Fuck,” Azriel groans. “That’s it.”

The stretch knocks the air from your lungs—your body forced open, filled in a way you forgot was possible. You can’t breathe. Can’t think. You just feel.

Azriel doesn’t move right away. His hands curl around your thighs, thumbs pressing bruises into your skin, and he lowers his head to watch himself inside you. Watch the way you pulse around him.

“You feel—fuck. You feel good,” he murmurs. The tone of his voice is almost reverent.

You clench around him in response, hips lifting without permission. Azriel groans again, deeper this time, and pulls out slow—agonizingly slow—before slamming back into you, harder now.

Your breath catches. Your nails drag down his back, circle around the base of his wings.

“Please,” you gasp, not even sure what you’re begging for. “Please.”

Azriel looks at you, pupils blown and mouth slightly open in pleasure, and nods. He seems to understand exactly what you're asking: Use me, fix me, make me feel good. Make me forget.

He fucks you hard, every grind of his hips dragging you closer to that fraying edge. The sound of it—the wet slap of skin, the obscene, slick noise of him pounding into you—is enough to make your cheeks burn.

Gods, it feels good. Unreasonably good. Too good. His hips grind down, slow and deep, and your body responds like it’s been waiting for him—like it knows him. Your chest rises sharply as the coil in your stomach tightens.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, and you do. His fingers cradle your jaw, turning your face to his. Your chest rises fast beneath his weight and you wrap your arms around his neck—bring him into another hungry kiss, all teeth and desire and desperation.

You part from him slightly, lips slipping from his, and when you open your eyes—when you finally look at him, really look—something deep inside you breaks a little.

Azriel is beautiful. Devastatingly so. 

But he is not Balthazar.

His eyes are lighter—greener, almost like forest moss, and none of the quiet, familiar warmth you used to find there. What looks back at you now is hunger. Raw and unsentimental. That look has never once belonged to Balthazar. Not for you.

Not Balthazar.

There’s a flicker in Azriel’s face. A stutter in the rhythm of his breath. Like something inside him caught up. Like he just realized who he’s looking at, too.

“Turn me around,” you murmur, desperate,  into his mouth as you bring him in for a kiss. You separate and Azriel blinks once. Then nods, helping you flip over.

He slides back into you with one smooth thrust and you moan, helpless and wrecked. One of his hands is pressing deep on your lower back, the other gripping your hip like he owns you.

For a brief moment, you’re tempted to say that he does, if only for the feeling of being wanted. Of belonging somewhere. Of being something more than alone. To be devoured, held down, seen. To be someone’s—even if it’s temporary. 

You think, briefly, that Azriel might feel the same way. 

He leans forward, one palm bracing beside your head, the other sliding between your wings—touching them gently, reverently. Something in you goes slack and electric at the same time, the feeling blooming in a place that isn’t your body. Some deeper, stranger part of you.

You wonder when the last time was that he touched someone like this.

Talented hands, skilled mouth, pretty cock. It makes you wonder how the Shadowsinger picks his lovers—what earns you a night in his bed, what makes him touch them like this, slow and attentive and knowing.

You hate that your mind starts pulling up names. Pictures. Gwyn.

The image flashes before you can stop it—her laughing, that soft smile, and the look you’ve caught in Azriel’s eyes in passing. That tenderness. That aching, reserved sort of love that’s always held just out of reach. The sort of love you’ve reserved for Balthazar. 

Your brain wants to torture you with it. To layer grief on top of lust. To ruin even this escape. 

You shove it all away. Cram it into the corner with the rest of the shit that’s rising up—Balthazar, and how angry you still are, and how fucked it all feels.

With his chest to your back, Azriel slides a hand under to cup your throat. He fucks you slow, deep—dragging it out while he whispers against your neck. Gods. Doing so good for me. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You gasp—and he starts to fuck you even harder, rougher, the pace building with each thrust. The slap of skin fills the room. Every stroke pushes you forward on the sheets, and his arm wraps tight around your waist, dragging you back into him again.

You choke on a moan and his shadows join the chaos of sensation.

Cool and sinfully curious, they slither around your thighs, over your stomach. One coils teasingly around your breast, circling your nipple—while another brushes lower, between your legs, flickering right over your clit with a ghost of pressure.

You jolt. Arch. The moan that rips from your throat is nothing short of primal.

“That’s it,” Azriel murmurs against your ear. “Taking us so good. So greedy for it.”

Your thighs are shaking. Your hands fist in the sheets. You try to speak—but nothing comes. Only a broken sound, a desperate nod.  Your mind goes silent. Balthazar is gone. The memory, the shape, the guilt of him—all gone.

And all that's left is Azriel, groaning behind you. 

“Oh gods,” you gasp. “Azriel—fuck—please—”

You’re already gone, bent over and panting, when you come for him—shaking violently, lights bursting behind your eyes. He follows with a rough groan, hips snapping against you once, twice, before he presses you flush against him and lets go.

You’re still catching your breath when he sinks to his knees behind you. When his mouth finds you—tongue dragging through the mess of your release and his.  You jolt, overstimulated, and whimper at the way he feasts on you.

It's filthy. You come again like it’s nothing.

And again. And again. 

He fucks you through the second round with his fingers, the third with his cock, the fourth with his tongue and shadows working in tandem. By the time you’re too sore to move, too spent to even speak, the sun has already begun to rise behind the curtains.

And when your eyes finally close—limp and boneless and flushed beneath your sheets—Azriel slips away without a word.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Velaris is nice. Much nicer, much safer, much softer than the places you’ve called home before.

And still—you don’t feel at peace. Maybe it’s too much to expect, to feel settled already. But that doesn’t stop the irritation from creeping in. You pick at it the way some people pick at scabs. Little mental chastisements you cycle through like a list. You should be grateful. You should feel lucky. 

But as you walk through the streets, you’re painfully aware of how different you are. Despite Velaris being home to lesser and high fae alike, you stand out. Your wings—still tightly folded against your back—make that obvious. You catch the lingering glances as you move through the city. 

You thought the citizens would be used to seeing Illyrians—after all, their High Lord and two of the highest-ranking members are Illyrian. But maybe it’s different seeing it on a stranger. A female, no less. You don’t have their grace. You’re the breed without the glamour.

It makes you weirdly homesick. No one would understand if you told them that, if you admitted that yes, you missed Illyria.

You missed your home, your mountains, the sound of your heritage. Your camp is gone now, but you know the homesickness would fade the moment you set foot back on that familiar land. You’d be reminded why you were lucky to escape, why you should be grateful for this chance.

It’s strange—to want to go back to the roots you spent so long trying to break free from. Your wings ache at the thought. 

You wish you could see Balthazar.

Your stomach tightens again, reminding you of your real reason for being out. The apothecary. You need medicine for the sickness that’s been dragging you down all week—the nausea, the constant discomfort. You figure it’s just your body adjusting to the new life here. Maybe your stomach is shocked by all the delicacies you’re finally allowed to eat.

You reach the apothecary and the scent of herbs greets you. A young fae behind the counter listens as you describe your symptoms, her brow furrowing. She disappears to the back. After a moment, another fae emerges—a healer, she says. The first is still learning, so she’s here to help find the right concoction.

She lays out options, explaining everything carefully. Then she points to a small vial. “This one’s best for morning sickness.”

You blink. “Oh no, I’m not— I’m not pregnant.”

She freezes for a moment. You feel something dark slip in—terror, cold and fast. She blinks, recovers quickly. “My mistake,” she says, brushing it off like it’s nothing.

But the damage is done. Your mind is starting to spiral. 

Your breath shortens for a moment, and you have to fight the sudden, irrational panic bubbling beneath the surface. It makes no sense.  You know it can’t be true. You’ve been careful—too careful. But the thought settles anyway, cold and unwelcome, and everything feels off balance. 

Suddenly you’re buying every bottle she pushes your way without really hearing what they do.

You leave the shop, clutching the small bags, your thoughts a mess of “not possible” and “why would she think that?” racing under your skin.

You’re barely halfway down the street when you almost run into her.

Elain Archeron. 

You don’t know much about her, but she’s impossible to miss— still as quietly beautiful as the first time you saw her, like she’s made of soft light and calm. She’s alone, without her mate, who you assume is off fulfilling the duties as the Day Court’s only heir—the recent, powerful news about him had even reached your old camp.

Her eyes widen when she sees you, caught just as off guard. Recognition flickers across her face. She knows you—and if you weren’t panicking, you’d feel almost honored that she remembered you.

For a moment, you want to say something. Anything. A simple hello. But your throat tightens, your stomach knots in that familiar way, and the words get stuck halfway out.

Her face changes. The warmth draining away as she blinks— for a second, she looks... gone. Hollow. Like she vanished into thin air.

It unsettles you.

Then, almost too fast, her gaze drops. You swear you see her eyes flick down to your midriff—the way they pause there, just long enough to make your skin crawl.

“Are you alright?” She asks. Her voice is soft, almost cautious, and her usual warmth quickly rolls over her once more. 

You force a nod, forcing down the rush of panic curling in your chest. “Yes. I’m sorry. I’m just—running late for something.”

You bid her a quick goodbye and all but run to your empty, awaiting apartment. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

A week and one healer’s visit later, your world flips inside out in less than an hour.

You’re sitting on your cold floor, back pressed against an empty wall, eyes fixed somewhere that isn’t really there. The healer’s soft, steady voice keeps looping in your mind—reassurances, warnings, instructions—but it all blurs together.

You don’t know if you want to cry, laugh, or just get up and run. You don’t even know what decision you’re supposed to make.

Gods, you wish you had someone to talk to.

But who is there, really?

You have one friend and he’s caught up in his own life, celebrating his mating ceremony, wrapped up in a happiness you can’t touch.

The silence presses in and you feel the sting of tears building. 

Then, a knock. A soft rap on the door, pulling you back.

You hesitate. Then stand. For the second time in a week, you come face to face with Elain Archeron.

Only this time, her eyes are wide, brows drawn tight with something fierce and urgent. 

“You’re pregnant.”  And then, after a beat, “Why do I know that you’re pregnant?”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: oh my god...hey.... where did this come from?? idk!!! i spun a wheel and it gave me unplanned pregnancy trope + az!!! (i also have one with eris... who said that...)

but its out here and im not mad at the idea of a slowburn, strangers to friends to lovers, babydaddy!az and two illyrians trying to come to terms with their culture kinda love story. also i KNOW this motherfucker has a breeding and a pregnancy kink thatll surface once he gets over the absolute dread of his new father status

maybe ill make this a lil universe and open up requests to ease back into writing <3 would yall be interested or want a taglist 😲😲

permanent tag list below🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten  @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon  @glam-targaryen 

@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark 

@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered 

@feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @azrielrot @justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli 

@mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound @melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos @acoazlove @paradisebabey @inkedinshadows @mellowmusings

@paankhaleyaaar @curiosandcourioser @thisrandombitch @casiiopea2 @w0nderw0manly

@rottenroyalebooks @jurdanpotter @casiiopea2 @gamarancianne @weesablackbeak

@booksaremyescapeworld @knoxic  @wynintheclouds @dacrethehalls  @louisa-harrier

[siachaos]

🎧 now playing: “I Wanna Be Yours” – Arctic Monkeys

“TIED TO AN IV”

✦ pairing: sophia (katseye) × fem!reader

✦ genre: romantic comedy, post-surgery chaos, girlfriends in love

WARNINGS:

none <3 heheh idk just cute little fluff and delusional anesthesia love confessions

SUMMARY:   

Sophia swears she doesn’t need anyone at her wisdom tooth removal.You show up anyway. Good thing—because the anesthesia hits hard.   She doesn’t recognize you. Thinks you’re the prettiest stranger she’s ever seen.Within minutes, she’s fake-proposing with an IV tube, planning a wedding, and naming your future twins Waffles and Crunchwrap.You should be mortified.   Instead, you fall in love with her all over again.

🖤 “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep falling in love with you every day.”

✦ AUTHOR’S NOTE ✦

hii this is just soft dumb fluff bc i thought the idea of sophia being high on anesthesia and fake-proposing with an IV line was too funny to not write 😭🙏🏼 she’s so in love it’s embarrassing… and reader is falling all over again. if u like chaotic girlfriends and gentle gay panic, this is for u <3

Sophia had insisted she didn’t need anyone to come with her to the clinic, brushing it off with that familiar nonchalant shrug and a crooked grin that always made your stomach flutter. "I’ll be fine," she had said. "It’s just a tooth. I’m tougher than I look." And you’d raised an eyebrow because she cried over a stubbed toe last week and spent thirty minutes dramatically recounting the pain like it was a war injury. Of course, you didn’t believe her for a second.

So here you were, sitting stiffly in a beige, slightly-too-cold waiting room chair with your fingers nervously knotted in your lap. The upholstery scratched faintly against the back of your thighs and the air conditioning hummed in an irritatingly consistent tone overhead. You half-scrolled on your phone, not really seeing the screen, your mind replaying a carousel of what-if scenarios: What if she woke up panicking? What if she said something embarrassing? What if she was scared?

You knew Sophia. She was sweet and soft and chaotic, sometimes all at once, and while she always put on a brave face, she secretly hated medical stuff. Hospitals made her anxious. She couldn’t even watch Grey’s Anatomy without covering her eyes. So the idea of her coming out of anesthesia alone, groggy and confused, didn’t sit right with you. That’s why you insisted. That’s why you were here.

You didn’t have to wait long. A nurse with a kind face and a clipboard emerged from the recovery wing, scanning the waiting area with the trained efficiency of someone who’d done this a hundred times. Her eyes landed on you, and her expression softened.

“She’s awake,” the nurse said with a smile, amused. “A little… loopy, but she’s asking for someone with pretty eyes, so I’m guessing that’s you?”

Your face flushed immediately, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks as you stood up and tucked your phone into your jacket pocket. Of course she was already being ridiculous.

You followed the nurse past a set of swinging double doors and down a short hallway that smelled faintly of antiseptic and something citrusy. Your heart was pounding, but it wasn’t the anxious kind of pounding—it was something gentler. Softer. Familiar. The way your heart always responded when Sophia was involved. Like it knew.

The recovery room was divided into small curtained bays, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing faintly. The nurse stopped at the second one on the right and pulled back the curtain with a soft rattle.

“She’s still under the influence of anesthesia,” she said in a low voice, grinning. “So just… be patient. She might not remember this part.”

You nodded and stepped past the curtain—and immediately had to stifle a laugh.

Sophia looked like a tornado had kissed her forehead. She was slouched half-upright in the adjustable bed, hair a tangled halo of curls, her mouth puffed out like a chipmunk thanks to the gauze stuffed into her cheeks. The thin hospital blanket was twisted around her legs like she’d been fighting ghosts in her sleep, and her arm rested awkwardly beside her, an IV taped to it with minimal coordination.

But her eyes—those big, soft, slightly unfocused eyes—lit up the second they landed on you.

"Oh my God," Sophia breathed, voice full of scandalized awe, like she'd just seen a celebrity naked. "Who are you?"

You blinked, caught off guard. “It’s me. Baby, it’s—”

“No, no, no,” Sophia slurred dramatically, lips barely moving around the cotton. “You can’t just walk in here looking like that. That’s illegal. Is that allowed? Is this allowed?”

You pressed a hand over your mouth to muffle a laugh. Her face was dead serious, like you were committing some kind of crime just by existing in her vicinity.

“Soph, it’s me.”

She shook her head—or at least tried to, though it came off more like a sluggish wobble. “You’re too pretty to be real. Are you my nurse? Did God send you? Wait. Wait. Did I die? Is this—are you an angel?”

Your shoulders shook silently as you tried to keep it together. “You’re not dead. I’m your girlfriend, remember?”

Sophia blinked, slowly and with great effort. “G-Girlfriend?”

Her mouth dropped open like you’d just told her aliens were real and she was one of them. “No way. No way I scored someone this cute. I must’ve been a firefighter in a past life. Or like… a pirate with a good heart.”

You took her hand gently, brushing your thumb across her knuckles. “You’re on anesthesia. It’s just me.”

Sophia looked down at your hands and gasped—a high-pitched, dramatic inhale like she was discovering love for the first time. “Oh my God, are we holding hands already? This is moving fast. Are we dating now? Are we—oh my God—do you want to get married?”

You laughed, almost doubling over, and quickly sat in the plastic chair beside her bed before your knees gave out. “You’re unbelievable.”

“No, you’re unbelievable,” Sophia insisted, wide-eyed, swaying slightly like she might just roll off the bed if not for the side rails. “We should get married. I’m serious. Right now. I have a ring. I can make a ring. Look.”

Before you could stop her, Sophia started gently tugging at the IV tubing, her fingers fumbling clumsily as she tried to twist it into a loop around your ring finger.

“See? Boom. Married.”

“Sophia,” you said, trying to keep a straight face, “that’s not a ring. That’s literally your IV line. You need that to, you know, live.”

She stared at it, blinking once, then twice. “Isn’t it romantic, though?”

You couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t even remember the last time your heart had felt this full. She was so utterly herself, even when she didn’t remember who you were—so much love spilling out of her in this ridiculous, drugged-up haze. And still, somehow, she’d chosen you. Again.

“And we’ll have kids,” Sophia mumbled dreamily, slumping further into the pillow like gravity had won. “Twins. One named Waffles. The other… I dunno. Moonlight? No, that’s too normal. Maybe Crunchwrap?”

You blinked. “Waffles and Crunchwrap?”

“Yeah,” she said proudly. “They’ll be beautiful. Like you. And I’ll make them pancakes every Sunday. Even if I don’t know how to cook. I’ll learn. For our Crunchwrap.”

You reached forward and gently brushed a messy curl off her forehead, fingertips lingering there a moment longer than necessary. “You’re such a mess.”

“But I’m your mess, right?” she said, eyes already drifting shut, a dopey smile tugging at her lips.

“Always.”

Sophia sighed like she’d just heard the most comforting words in the world, her fingers still loosely curled around yours. “I’m so lucky,” she whispered, slurred but sincere. “To meet you today.”

You felt your throat tighten, the lump rising quickly. “We’ve met before, Soph. You’ve loved me for a while.”

“Oh,” she murmured, her voice as soft as breath. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep falling in love with you every day.”

And somehow, those words—spoken half-delirious, half-dreaming—felt more real than anything else in the world.

You stayed beside her for a long time, holding her hand and listening to her murmur absolute nonsense about wedding cakes shaped like dinosaurs, a honeymoon on the moon, and naming their future dog “Toaster” because “it’s warm and reliable.” She even tried to hum a wedding march at one point but ended up singing the Jaws theme instead.

She stayed loopy for a while. And when she finally blinked up at you with a clearer gaze and called you by your real name, you smiled and squeezed her hand, but didn’t mention the IV ring or the kids named after breakfast foods.

You wanted to keep that part just for yourself.

For later. For love. For always.

[batsandbirdbrains]

Omfg new better idea for kryptonian Dick Grayson

Going back to making him Clark’s older brother who was stuck in the phantom zone for however many years. So he has some vague memories of Krypton. Remembers seemingly random things. But the story of Nightwing and Flamebird is bright in his memories, because it was a story his mother used to tell him before bed.

But what makes this a better idea u might ask? Add to the equation: isolated Batfam. Dick has never personally interacted with any of the Justice League members. There were a few run ins when he was still Robin, still fluttering around the edges of Batman’s cape and making snotty quips at any potential enemies, but Batman always made sure Robin stayed distant from any other so-called heroes. He didn’t trust them. He especially didn’t trust them not to hurt his young protege.

So now Dick is 19 and he’s living in Blüdhaven. Bruce is already on his fourth Robin, after Dick spent his first year as a legal adult raising and training Damian while Bruce was lost in time. Jason has already died and come back as Red Hood.

Dick stopped being Robin at 15 after a blow out fight with Bruce after Joker shot him. Two years after that, Jason was killed by the Joker when he was also 15. And instead of taking that as a sign to stop bringing kids into this life, a 13 year old Tim was Robin for nearly a full year before Bruce was thought dead, until the 10 year old Damian showed up and Dick passed the mantle of Robin onto him. Because he saw so much of himself in Damian, and he knew Tim would understand once he was able to actually talk to him about it without Tim insisting that Bruce was still alive.

Except joke was on Dick, because Tim did manage to bring Bruce back alive from wherever the hell he was. And then Bruce demands custody of Damian be switched back over to him, it doesn’t matter that Dick loved him like his own son, that Damian thought Dick was the only person who really understood him, that Dick was Damian’s Batman, that Damian was Dick’s little Robin, that Dick adopted him.

And that led to another fight, which is why Dick has been completely solo in Blüdhaven ever since. So now he’s 19-going-on-20, and he’s approached by Wonder Woman, Green Arrow, and a hero he’s been trying to avoid his whole life – Superman.

Because Dick knows that’s his little brother. He knows that’s his Kal-El. And he’d never told Bruce about being Kryptonian, he’d been so vigilant about keeping his powers under wraps, he hides them well. He’s had a few slip ups, but nothing he couldn’t explain away. He has tight control over his abilities.

But now his brother is standing in front of him, chatting with him, and Dick’s heart is beating so hard in his chest despite trying his best to calm himself down.

“I have to ask, the name Nightwing – how did you come up with it?” Superman asks.

Dick blinks behind his mask, his eyes shifting to the symbol of the House of El on Kal-El’s chest, and he does his best to remain as nonchalant as possible.

“It’s from a story my mother used to tell me,” he says, his voice soft. “He was a god.”

“And this god, did he have a partner?”

Dick knows where this is going. He knows what’s going to happen. He knows Bruce would kill him if he were here, trusting these Justice League fools.

“Flamebird,” Dick whispers.

And Superman’s breath is caught in his throat. It’s clear Superman relayed his suspicions about Nightwing to his colleagues, because they look merely curious at what’s being discussed, but they don’t seem confused.

“Are you–” Superman can’t quite finish his question, so Dick smiles at him.

“The symbol on your chest,” he says, motioning towards it. Dick’s own voice is a bit shaky, but he swallows down any nerves before he chickens out. This is what he’s always wanted. This is what he’s been longing to do since he first saw the picture of Superman on a newspaper in the Graysons’ trailer. “The House of El.”

Superman nods, and Dick sends him a nervous little grin.

“I’m – I was…” his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth, so he spits out the next words quickly in a jumbled mess, “my name is Kod-El.”

And it seems like the world around them stops. Superman is in front of him in the blink of an eye, holding his face in his hands, cradling him gently, staring at every line of his face.

“That’s not possible,” Kal-El whispers, as if it’s only for Kod-El’s ears. “He was older than me. You can’t be older than me, you’re so young.”

“Excellent genetics, maybe?” Kod-El teases. But then he moves his hands up to hover over Kal-El’s, until he works up the courage to tuck his fingers around the edge of Kal-El’s. “I got stuck. In the Phantom Zone. I don’t know how long I was there. It felt like forever and nothing at the same time.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, drinking in each other’s features, making sure this whole thing is even real. But then Kod-El lets out a wet laugh, and Kal-El’s face crumbles.

“You were just a baby when we left,” Kod-El says, his words thick. “But then after I landed, I saw a newspaper with you on it. And you had our House symbol on your chest, and I knew it was you, but you were all grown up, and I didn’t know what to do.”

And that’s how Superman ends up cradling Nightwing close to his chest on a Blüdhaven rooftop. Nightwing keeps insisting in a broken voice everything I do is wrong, I mess everything up, nothing is ever right but Superman is insisting that’s not true, that can’t be true, you were only a child. Superman is telling him you have me now, I’m here now, I’ll make sure everything is right for you now, we’ll make it right together.

And there’s no way Superman could have known how much Nightwing needed to hear those words, but soothe something inside him that he didn’t know was broken. Because being kicked out by Bruce more than once has left several scars that Dick has tried to hide, not to mention the other, more physical scars Bruce has left him with over the years. The Batman is a harsh teacher, and his lessons always come at a cost, and Dick hasn’t always had super powers that made him invulnerable.

Plus, Batman kept a healthy dose of Kryptonite around the cave in case he ever needed it. One of his many contingency plans for all the other heroes they knew about. And the near constant exposure whenever Dick was in the cave had weakened his powers. He’s better now that he’s been away for a while, but the psychological damage is still there.

So Nightwing joins the Justice League after being given what may as well be a golden invitation. He joins without a second guess, without consulting Bruce, without even revealing that Nightwing is affiliated with Batman. The Gotham vigilantes are kept under wraps outside of Gotham, no one knows how many there really are or what they’re called. No one knew Nightwing was once the Batman’s first bird.

Idk where I’m going with this but I love this idea I want more of it. I’m also thinking Dick spends a few months after first being kicked out at 15 as Deathstroke’s apprentice. Whether he goes willingly or not is yet to be determined. Whether Bruce and the rest of the Batfam know about it is also not decided yet.

[tsuemi]

If Things Were Different

tw: teenage pregnancy (?) pure angst

you didn’t mean for things to end this way. you really didn’t.

but when the second pink line appeared on the test in the quiet, suffocating bathroom of your childhood home, the world stopped — and then came crashing down like shattered glass.

you sat there on the cold tiles, knees pulled to your chest, phone clutched in your hand like a lifeline. the silence felt cruel. even the distant hum of your parents arguing downstairs couldn’t fill the void inside you. all you could hear was the pounding of your heart… and tooru’s voice in your head.

“nothing will ever change, i swear. i’ll be thousands of miles away, but i’ll still be yours. every single day.”

he’d kissed you after he said that. it was the night before his flight to argentina — the last night you’d spent together. he smiled like he believed it, like he had the world in his hands. you didn’t have the heart to tell him you were already terrified things would change.

but this?

you hadn’t imagined this.

you didn’t call him right away. you couldn’t.

your parents were livid. your father yelled until his voice cracked. your mother sat with her face in her hands, whispering words like "reckless" and "disappointment" over and over until they echoed in your skull. you barely heard them, not really. it was like you were underwater. your thoughts were screaming, but no one else could hear them.

tooru was the only person you wanted to run to.

but he had just arrived in argentina. he was probably training. he was finally living his dream — climbing toward that goal he’d whispered so many times under his breath: “i’m going to be the strongest.”

how could you tell him now?

still, your fingers moved before your mind could stop them.

you dialed.

“y/n?” his voice picked up after the third ring. it was soft with surprise, tinted with the exhaustion of jet lag, but there was joy there too. “what’s wrong? it’s—what time is it there? are you okay?”

you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth to hold in the sound. tears slipped hot and heavy down your cheeks. you didn’t want to cry. not now. not with him on the other end of the line. “i’m okay,” you lied, voice thin and trembling. “i just… missed you.”

a pause. “baby…”

“i just needed to hear your voice.” you forced a smile he couldn’t see. “tell me how your day was.”

“i—” he hesitated, and you knew he could hear something in your voice. something wrong. he was always good at that. “my day was fine. coach said i’m improving fast. the team’s… well, they’re different. spanish is hard.”

you laughed quietly, the sound broken. “you’ll pick it up fast. you always do.”

“tooru…” your voice cracked. “i love you.”

“i love you too,” he said instantly, without hesitation. “what’s going on, baby?”

you wanted to tell him. god, you wanted to tell him everything. that you were scared. that your parents looked at you like you were already ruined. that your future had blurred into something terrifying and unknown.

that there was a life growing inside you — his child. a tiny heartbeat that had no idea the world was already this heavy.

but you couldn’t.

you wouldn’t be the thing that made him give up his dream.

so you said nothing else. you ended the call. and the next morning, with a shaking hand and eyes swollen from crying, you blocked his number.

days passed.

weeks.

until it was already two months since you last spoken to the love of your life.

you checked his social media sometimes — never commenting, never liking, just watching from a distance. he posted photos with his team. videos of games. he looked tired, but proud. alive in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time.

you cried yourself to sleep most nights. your body changed slowly, and every little shift reminded you he wasn’t there. that he didn’t know. that you made that choice.

you tried to justify it.

he would’ve dropped everything. he would’ve flown back, given it all up. he would’ve blamed himself. because that’s who he is — oikawa tooru, the boy who smiled even when he was breaking. the boy who carried the weight of every loss like it was carved into his spine.

you couldn’t do that to him.

you couldn’t ruin him.

so you pretended you were fine. you walked around with a ghost in your chest and pretended it didn’t ache. you didn’t answer his emails. you never opened his dms.

but you missed him.

you missed his stupid little hair routine. the way he’d dramatically say, “don’t fall in love with me too hard, okay?” even though you already had. the way he’d pull you into his chest when he was exhausted and whisper that you were his home.

you weren’t his home anymore.

and he wasn’t yours.

there were moments — sharp, unbearable ones — where you almost called. when the morning sickness got bad. when your doctor first played the sound of a heartbeat. when you held the first ultrasound in your hands and felt your soul break into a thousand splinters.

you wanted him there.

you wanted him to say, “it’s going to be okay, y/n.” but you already knew what he would do. and it wasn’t fair. not to him.

you chose to bear it alone.

you told yourself it was strength.

but it felt like drowning.

somewhere in argentina, tooru still whispers your name in his sleep.

he checks his phone more than he should. wonders what he did wrong. if you got tired of waiting. if maybe you found someone better. if maybe you stopped loving him before he even boarded the plane.

he tells himself to move on.

he tells himself it’s just the cost of greatness.

but he still dreams of you.

and he still wonders why the girl who said she loved him... never said goodbye.

🍥 part two . . .

[rafesangelita]

♡ when nerd!rafe finds explicit content of you on your laptop — aka a study session turned gooning session..

warnings: mentions of nude photos and videos, teasing, flirty banter, slight guilt, masturbation, suggestive ending

a/n: read more about nerd!rafe and bitchy!pogue!reader here !

rafe shook his head when he saw the glossy pink casing of your macbook staring back at him from the desk in the corner of his room, his phone buzzing just as he was about to send you a lengthy message about forgetting your laptop at his place for the thousandth time.

[3:57 PM] ♡ y/n : pls tell me i left my computer at your place, i was leaving the club this morning at like 3AM and couldn’t find it in my bag…

rafe sighed at your text. of course you’d be leaving the club at an outrageous hour.

[4:00 PM] Rafe Cameron : Yes, it’s here. Please remember you can’t be forgetting it all of the time, how are you supposed to do homework when you don’t have your laptop at home?

you rolled your eyes as you read over his message. ugh, he was always on your case about getting your assignments done and turned in on time.

[4:03 PM] ♡ y/n : whatever. i actually already finished everything i had to do but if you could please proofread an essay for me i’ll love you forever. i’m on my way over.

rafe let you know the front door was unlocked before opening your laptop, his cheeks burning red as a picture of you in a skimpy bikini illuminated the screen. if anyone was going to put themselves as their wallpaper, it’d be you. typing in your password, rafe went ahead and clicked on the ‘files’ icon, a frustrated groan leaving his lips when a storage notification popped up.

⚠︎ DUE TO MAXIMUM STORAGE USE YOU ARE UNABLE TO ACCESS THIS FILE. PLEASE DELETE LARGE MEDIA.

large media? what the hell did you have on here?

exiting out of the ‘files’ app, rafe opened your camera roll, his mouth going dry at the sight. scrolling up for what seemed like forever, rafe swallowed hard as his eyes took in the view of your naked form. someone seemed to be having a little too much fun with photo booth on here..

your pictures ranged from fully nude, to you posing in nothing but a g-string and other suggestive positions that all of a sudden made rafe’s pants feel ten times tighter. feeling the familiar ache in his groin, rafe looked down and cursed under his breath at the tent forming in his pants. he couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt at the whole thing. here he was, going through your private photos and getting hard while you thought he was checking your essay for any errors. surely, he wasn’t going to be getting the ‘man of the year’ award anytime soon.

clicking on a video that caught his attention, rafe leaned back in his chair as he kept his eyes trained on the screen in front of him. he watched as you flipped your hair over your shoulder, a teasing smile making its way to your lips before you scooted back, fluttering your lashes at the camera. rafe couldn’t recognize what exact song you had playing in the background, but he knew it had to be some kind of early 2000’s pop anthem by the way you had a very specific music taste for that era. you basically flirted with the camera as you unhooked your bra, the hot pink lace falling to the floor at your feet.

pushing his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose, he blinked when your tits came into view, the soft swells looking so perfect and plump as you rolled your sensitive buds between your fingers. you moaned, the sound shooting straight down to rafe’s cock. “fuck..” he wiped the sweat from his brow, not daring to miss a single beat of your ministrations. rafe wondered how someone could look so pretty doing such vulgar things, his hand seemingly having a mind of its own as he started palming himself in a poor attempt to relieve some of the pressure in his core.

he damn near made himself jump out of his chair at his own touch, his sensitivity flying through the roof as the video came to a stop. you were such a tease all the time, rafe felt like his current actions was a result of all the pent up sexual frustration finally rising to the surface, his skin hot and flushed as he unbuttoned his pants and took himself out of his undewears. he’ll feel terrible about this later, but right now he needed release more than anything else. with one hand fisting his cock, and the other clicking through your photos, rafe was a whimpering mess by the time you had walked up his driveway.

slipping your heels off at the door, you paused once you heard what sounded like a muffled whine come from upstairs. arching a brow, you quietly placed your bag down before tiptoeing to rafe’s room. you didn’t know what to expect upon peeking through the crack in the door, but seeing rafe cry out into his palm while cum decorated his stomach definitely wasn’t on the list. you gasped softly once you saw yourself on the laptop in front of him, his chest rising and falling as he sat hunched over at his desk. rafe was tugging one out to your pictures.. the thought alone made your head spin.

debating on whether or not you should interrupt his little moment, you thought about all the stuff rafe did for you without ever expecting anything in return. he was so cute and funny and somehow found a way to tolerate you and all your sassy remarks, it only felt right to express your appreciation. creeping up behind him, rafe spinned in his chair when his phone went off, his mind going completely blank as you stood over him with a glittery smile. “y/n—!” he choked, his eyes widening as his hands shot down to conceal his length. you took a moment to study him, your own arousal seeping through your panties as you took in his disheveled appearance.

unbuttoned shirt, chiseled abs, his glasses sitting crookedly on his nose, the flush of pink that dusted over his cheeks.. you needed him bad. taking a step forward, you reached out and ran your fingers through his hair, making sure to tug the ends in order to tease him. “i would’ve never forgotten my laptop here if i had known you’d be jerking off to me..” you said innocently, your acrylic nails raking down his chest before you moved his hands away to reveal his cock. “please forgive me, y/n! i’m not a creep, i promise, i—” you shushed him, muttering a small ‘shut up.’ before ridding yourself of your panties.

rafe blinked, his chest still heaving as you held onto his shoulders for leverage. “no need to be sorry,” you reassured him, swinging a leg over his lap, “i actually think it’s kinda cute.” rafe shuddered once you sat down, your puffy, slick folds enveloping the tip of his cock as he stared up at you, dumbfounded. “you know.. you’re always teaching me things, maybe it’s time i teach you a thing or two, yeah?” rafe swallowed thickly when you shifted your weight, your hips grinding against his own as his palms found their resting place on top of your thighs.

nodding helplessly at your words, you reached down and aligned rafe with your entrance.

“hopefully you do a good job, ray, because you’re getting graded for this one.”

[manycolouredglass]

here's to a forever with you

author's note: you can thank tobin heath retiring for this one. be grateful it's not pure angst and it's actually kind of fluffy. wives!pazzi with a couple of rascals, paige is announcing her retirement. some angst, but i promise it's all very bittersweet, with emphasis on the sweet. this is really more inspired by dt and penny than anything else. i'm going to entertain a bunch of my delusions for this one. seriously. delusional. i'm gonna need everyone to suspend their disbelief. don't worry, this is all set in the very far future.

wc: 5k

tw: swearing and children

paige leaned back on the warm leather, tipping her head to the bright, spotless sky. her eyes gently closed, as she listened to the chains creak next to her and felt the grass brush the top of her feet. the swing she was on rocked back and forth softly, like it was trying to let her mind slow down with it.

she remembered when she convinced azzi to get this swing. it was one of the bigger ones, one that looked like a bench swinging from two ropes, and paige was convinced that it would be the perfect addition to their backyard. azzi had brought up that they had a whole mini playground set for the kids that included two regular swings that worked perfectly fine. paige had just smiled and said that this was different. she knew she didn't have to try that hard, azzi already had on that lopsided smirk that meant that she was going to agree with whatever paige suggested but was pretending she was stricter than that.

really, paige had simply wanted something that was constantly in motion like she was. she wanted a place that would keep moving even when she stopped.

paige had had two knee surgeries in the last five years and she felt that fact every day. when she was younger, she thought she would know that she had to stop playing because she physically couldn't do it anymore. she didn't expect this.

it took so many more hours to stretch and prepare her body for another bruising game. and all the the training to keep her in top form was costing her moments in her life that she couldn't get back. she wanted to bend down and pick up her kids without her knees screaming at her. she wanted to crawl across the bed and blow annoying raspberries into her wife's stomach. she wanted to walk the dog with her family without every step punishing her.

basketball was slowly taking things from her life. she didn't want to wake up one morning and find everything gone. she didn't want to resent the game that saved her life. so she knew.

this was it.

one last season.

_____ ___ _____

azzi had retired a couple seasons earlier. she had numerous business plans in the work and she had wanted to spend more time with their kids, so she knew it was time to let it go. some people might have thought it was easier for her. they assumed that azzi didn't live for basketball, not like paige did. but azzi had spent the last 3 decades shifting her veins into the perfect shooter, into a body, mind, and soul built for the game. she had sacrificed so much and she had found so much joy in it. none of it was ever going to leave her gently.

everyone else had seen her small smile and gentle wave after she had officially announced the retirement. but paige had been there when she finally broke down in the restless night, tears soaking through paige's sleep shirt. she just held her, rubbing small circles in the base of her neck, whispering easy truths like "you're still the best player in the nation."

no one knew how hard you had to fight to let something like this go.

paige thinks it might kill her slowly.

she slid open the back door and padded into the kitchen. azzi was at the sink, washing some strawberries. multicolored light shines through one of their stained glass windows, bouncing off azzi's curls and creating a sort of halo around her head. an angel, paige thought. which wasn't a surprise, she's been thinking that since she was 15. an angel, fallen from heaven, who chose her from some reason. yeah, she knows she's lucky.

azzi turns her head at the sound, gently smirking. "you done wallowing, bueckers?"

paige didn't respond with words, just walked up behind azzi and wrapped her arms around her waist, letting her forehead fall onto azzi's shoulder.

azzi's skin was so warm and soft, tinged with the scent of salted caramel and something so entrancingly azzi. if she could choose where she wanted to die, it would be right here.

paige inhaled, reaching for the words she never thought she'd have to say. felt them slice their way out of her.

"az...i think this season is it for me."

azzi stopped moving, breath catching. she turned slowly in paige's arms, tears already pricking in her eyes. paige let her hands move upwards, pulling azzi closer. azzi was looking at her like the ground was shifting from underneath them, and paige just knew that azzi understood every single feeling burning in the back of her throat. it was terrible, but paige was so grateful that their hearts were so intertwined that they broke together too.

she felt azzi's hands on her cheek, thumb swiping gently at the tears streaming down her own face.

"baby."

"i gotta let it go, and i don't know how. i don't know how to do this, az."

"well, the first thing is, you don't have to do it alone. we're here for you. i'm here for you."

paige closed her eyes and let azzi coax her somewhere her body felt a little lighter.

"the second thing is, you don't have to do anything right now. we can take this slow as you need to."

her thumb stilled, and paige opened her eyes to find azzi looking at her with so much love, it almost knocked the air out of her lungs. the first time paige saw that look was when they won the natty together, like the love and pride was spilling out of her so fast she couldn't stop it.

"i am so proud of you, p. you're the strongest person i know."

"you're the strongest person i know. couldn't do this without you, babe."

the sound of feet pattering down the corridor broke the two lovers out of their reverence, and paige felt an involuntary smile sneak onto her face.

"mama, mommy!"

paige reached down and picked up maya, their youngest, nuzzling her nose in the side of her cheek. maya let out a bubbly giggle at the motion, and paige's heart grew two sizes larger.

"mommy, stop."

paige gently tickled the sides maya's stomach, letting every laugh stich her soul back together. "never, peaches."

their eldest, jordan, latches herself on azzi's leg and azzi doesn't even blink, just reaches for the washed strawberries on the counter.

"want some, baby?"

jordan tilts her nose up and shakes her head aggressively, always with a touch of drama.

azzi side eyes paige. "like mother, like daughter."

"my kid twin would pick trufru over real fruit, so i don't know about that."

azzi doesn't justify that with a response, just crouches down and feeds jordan a strawberry. some of the juice from the fruit stains jordan's cheek, in that way only kids can get sticky substances in the most random of places. azzi licks her thumb, swipes at jordan's cheek, and places the softest kiss there.

paige doesn't think she'll ever get used to watching azzi raise their kids. it's everything she'd ever wanted when she was 17, lying next to azzi and staring at the ceiling, hoping that whatever this feeling that strangled her heart when azzi was near would disappear. but it only got stronger and more insistent until finally, she caved. and god, is she so thankful she did, because she doesn't know what she did to deserve every dream she ever had, all alongside the girl that changed her life with her smile and her jumpshot.

maya decides that she hasn't had enough attention yet and grabs at paige's cheeks with her tiny hands.

"oof, peach, i can't talk."

maya does not care. "so squishy."

paige sighs. "death by human stress ball. it's a good way to go."

azzi hands her a strawberry as jordan tries to climb up the counter and reach the bowl. they needed to get that kid into some kind of sport to burn off a little of that gremlin energy. paige isn't a saint, and she hopes a little selfishly that jordan'll latch onto basketball, just like her.

"you're so dramatic, bueckers."

paige drops a kiss on azzi's lips. "only for you, fudd."

"ewww, mommy."

yeah, she could get used to having more of this.

_____ ___ _____

there was nothing quite like the chase center arena. this place truly lived and breathed basketball. paige could feel it in the walls, just like she feels it in her bones. there was a reason they called it ballhalla. it was heaven for a player like her.

she never expected to end up on the valkyries team, but azzi had got traded there in her 3rd year, right when paige's contract finished. the timing was too perfect not to try. plus, she really did love purple. (azzi looked really good in the uniform, which isn't really that significant cause she looks good in every uniform.) by some miraculous grace of god and an insanely talented representation team, they managed to completed a complicated three way deal that resulted in paige ending up in the bay. she sent her agent a way too expensive arrangement of sweet wines and smelly cheeses.

the valkyries had reunited the backcourt that everyone had only got to witness for one season at uconn, and it created a lot of buzz. paige couldn't help looking at the headlines and worrying that the dream that their uconn selves had lived was too much for their present selves to carry. she knew how quickly the media and the fans could turn on you if you didn't deliver and she didn't want any of the extra sound to warp what she had with azzi.

but azzi, in all her infuriatingly solid calmness had simply looked at her and said, "it's still us, p. they can say whatever they want to, but we'll still be the best backcourt duo in the nation."

paige looked up at her. "still riding till the wheels fall off?"

azzi smiled. "always."

all the useless chatter was proven wrong anyway, as it always was. paige and azzi still had that undeniable chemistry on the floor, the same chemistry that drew two young players together on that usa basketball team. the same chemistry that made people think, it's not just basketball, it's like their souls are always looking for each other.

paige and azzi had taken the valks to the semi finals that first year, and won the championship the next.

she still remembered how big azzi's smile was that day, dimples so deep you could've hidden a star in there. there was champagne clinging to her eyelashes, laughter curling in the air, and if paige could've frozen time, this would've been the second she chose to live in. she had tried to kiss every inch of azzi's skin that night, forever chasing the taste of winning together.

there was a mural of the 2031 team that had won it all for the first time on the walls of the chase center. paige had found herself staring at it multiple times over the years, still remembering that smile. today, on the first day of her last training camp, was no different.

someone came up from behind her, hooking their arm around her neck and dragging her down. paige looked at her side and was met with flau'jae johnson's signature sideways smile.

"come on, old ass. gotta show the rookies what the w is made of."

"you're literally only one year younger than me,"

"yeah, but you've been here forever and have won like a thousand chips with that wife of yours. pretty sure that makes you much older than me."

"that makes no sense."

"shh, bueckers, just accept it and move on."

paige shakes her head and throws open the gym doors. most of the players were already starting to settle in and warm up. well, here comes the hard part.

she had already told natalie about her plan to retire and the coach had just smiled and hugged her like she knew what paige was going to say before she even walked through the door. paige had cried for the third time that day. now the next step was telling her team.

coach blew the whistle and everyone formed a circle in the center of the gym. natalie began with her regular training camp spiel that paige had heard at least 50 times in her life, so she took the chance to look around at her newer teammates. she immediately recognized mila bazzell, napheesa collier's daughter and the valk's first draft pick. the kid had a deadly jumpshot that was almost as pretty as azzi's and a fadeaway that was pretty impossible to guard. she was soaking in every word coach was saying, with the same determined expression her mother used to wear when she was wrestling for a shot in the paint.

paige remembers when mila was just a little kid, cheering courtside for her mama. and now she was here as the future of the valkyries team, someone who could keep up the team's reputation for clutch dagger shots and the unguardable middy. flau'jae still had a couple good years of being the dynamic player that she always was, and dom malonga, the clinical legend in the paint, was sure to create some incredible plays and offer some much needed veteran presence.

this was the team she was leaving behind. they were going to be okay. more than okay.

"alright, that's all i've got. before we get started, paige has an announcement."

paige blinked at the sound of her name, slowly realizing that everyone was looking at her. here goes nothing.

"right. hi everyone. i am so excited to be playing with each and every single one of you. i've been on this team for most of my career and i'm really proud of what we've built here. i wish i could be a valk for the rest of my life, but the ball has got stop bouncing sometime."

flau'jae gasped. "paige, you're...?"

she nodded. "this is going to be my last season in the w. guess you were right, johnson. i am getting too old for this."

the whole gym was quiet. paige tried to keep her smile from wobbling.

flau'jae was the first to move, rushing to hug her. "goddamnit, paige."

everyone she played with last season quickly followed suit, all dogpiling on top of her into a giant group hug. paige could see natalie starting to tear up and then her own vision started to blur with her own tears.

damn. she had a bet going with azzi on whether she was going to cry today. she hated doing the dishes.

eventually, everyone let her out of their vice grip and natalie started barking out some drills, directing people to their positions. paige took her place at the perimeter, rock in her hand like it was always meant to be there.

dom elbowed her side playfully as she walked by. "one last season, huh?"

paige smirked. "let's make it a good one."

_____ ___ _____

her last season was a pretty good one, ending when they lost the fifth game of the semi finals series against the lynx, led by sarah strong. paige couldn't think of a better person to lose to.

paige had dropped 35 pts and 8 assists, a season high for her, and the entire team had played well. it just wasn't in the cards for them. she would have loved to add a seventh championship to her resume, but she was also secretly a little glad they didn't win. paige had shared every single one of her major career accomplishments with azzi. the natty, her six championships, and every gold medal was fought for by her side. paige didn't want to find out what winning without azzi felt like.

she watched as the lynx held onto each other, jumping up and down like they had already won the chip. and even though she lost, all she could do was smile. this was her last game of professional basketball, and it was so much fun. she was going to miss this so fucking much.

"paige, you recorded a season high in tonights game. how does it feel to lose despite your stellar performance?"

twenty plus years in the league and the questions still haven't gotten any better.

"honestly, i feel okay. sure it was a loss, but it was a well fought one. my team played some pure, unselfish and beautiful basketball tonight, and that's what i'm going to remember. they really made this game a good one to end it on."

the reporter stared at her. "...to end it on?"

paige smiled. "this was my last professional game. i'm officially retiring."

the entire arena exploded.

mics and cameras came rushing up to her, and paige suddenly regretted her decision to make this a surprise. this was one of those moments when she wished cd's media training stuck a little harder.

after a good thirty minutes, paige finally managed to disentangle herself from the media brigade and sneak away to find her favorite people waiting in the tunnel.

jordan and maya were both renacting parts of the game for azzi, or at least jordan was and maya was trying to copy everything her sister was doing. both of them had purple glitter sprinkled throughout their hair, valks merch on their tiny bodies, and purple 5s painted on their cheeks.

jordan noticed her first. "mommy!"

paige drops to her knees (yes, it hurt) and both kids barrelled into her. jordan let go of her almost immediately, full of excitable energy, while maya was happy enough clinging to paige's chest.

"mommy, you were so good out there. and that shot you made when there were three people around you but you just turned around and swish."

jordan punctuates the sound by jumping a little and flicking her wrist, a passable imitation of paige's own form. paige simply smiles at her daughter and hoped the love didn't leak out of her eyes again.

"you know mommy always hits those shots. isn't that right, middy princess?"

paige looks up and locks eyes with her wife, who was wearing her #5 jersey. azzi always looked good in whatever she was wearing, but paige was always a bit obsessed (and slightly feral) for when she wore paige's number.

azzi loved to show up and show the world who she was here for, and paige loved that about her. maybe a little too much.

she stood up and wrapped her free arm around azzi's waist, letting her head fall into the crook of azzi's neck. paige always found herself here after the big moments, folding herself into azzi and letting her carry the weight for a bit. azzi lifted her hand to cradle the back of paige's head. paige felt azzi's next words more than heard them.

"you were so good out there, p. so beautiful."

"i missed you next to me. i always do."

azzi moves back so she could look paige in the eye. "i missed being there with you."

paige let out a small hum, and leans over to leave a soft, lingering, kiss on azzi's cheek. she feels something tugging on her shorts and she looks down to find jordan's big doe eyes that were a carbon copy of azzi's looking up at her.

"can i make a shot in the basket? i wanna make one just like you."

paige hands maya over to azzi and reaches for jordan's hand. "of course, peanut."

it takes her a second to hunt down the game ball, which was already stolen by the lynx team in the middle of their celebration. she pulls jordan into the middle of the paint and hands her the rock.

"do not let go of the ball until i say, okay? no matter what."

jordan nods at her, face full of determination, which paige matches immediately. she gently moves jordan in front of her.

"ready?"

jordan holds the ball up, ready to shoot, but before she can, paige grabs her waist and hoists her onto her shoulders. jordan lets out a laugh and paige gives herself a mental high five.

"mommy, this is not how you make your shots."

"trust me, this way is better."

jordan tries to glare at her but it comes out looking more soft and squishy than she probably intended. paige pointedly ignores it.

"come on, peanut. make your shot."

she throws the ball at the basket with virtually no form, and still, miraculously manages to get it to hit the rim. the kid might have some natural talent after all. paige looks around for her wife who was currently trading funny faces with maya.

"azzi! rebound please!"

azzi spots the ball before she spots them. she scoops up the ball and hands it over to jordan, whose hands start fidgeting immediately

paige rubs one of jordan's legs. "peanut, you've got this."

azzi sees the hesitation in her daughter's eyes and recognizes it immediately. she's seen it in the mirror too many ties to count.

she steps a little closer. "breathe, baby. it's just us. just focus on the ball and the basket. nothing else matters."

jordan closes her eyes for two seconds, and opens them. she sets up her shot more confidently and lets it fly.

azzi smiles before the ball even falls through the basket. "look at you, baby. best shooter in the nation."

paige bounces jordan on her shoulders, relishing in every giggle her baby girl lets out. "i think the best shooter is still your mama, but if you keep practicing, i'm sure you'll beat her."

azzi lifts jordan off paige's shoulders and sets her down. "i know you will."

_____ ___ _____

"so i don't know if anyone remembers, but azzi and i won uconn's twelfth natty together, our first title out of seven. the most championships in wnba history, by the way."

azzi's probably rolling her eyes at her right now.

"everyone's asked me about that day, about that season, at least a thousand times over my career. makes sense, it was the fairytale ending to my college career, 5 years full of injury and obstacles that finally led to what everyone wanted most. but what i remember the most was azzi the night before. the way she looked me in the eye and said 'we're winning it tomorrow. i am not letting you leave here without a natty, paige bueckers.' "

paige blinked, trying to stop herself from being transported back to that hotel room when azzi had looked at her so earnestly and promised her everything.

"to those who know azzi, y'all know that she can kind of get in her head about these kind of things, but that night there was no doubt in her face and i knew, if she had to take down the entire south carolina team herself, she would. which she basically did end up doing."

"i fell in love with azzi's game first. the way she was so calm and collected on the floor, completely unshakeable. a monster on defense with the smoothest game i'd ever seen. and of course, a shot that's taken my breath since i was fifteen. i've never lied when i said she was the best player in the nation. she was back then and she is right now. just as a fan of basketball, watching azzi play has been one of the greatest things i've ever witnessed."

"then i realized that her heart was the same way, so strong and steady and unbreakable. her consistency was what got me, the way she showed up in the same way, every single day, no matter what. she made everyone around her better just being herself, grounded in her ability and her faith in her team. she was kind in the way that made everything easier, flow better. she was magic. and really there was no hope for me after that. i was gone."

paige smiled at azzi, wide and unforgiving, and azzi ducked her head, blush creeping in by her ears. so cute.

"she was my dream girl, gorgeous and could beat me in a shooting contest. i was always going to marry her."

the crowd cheered.

"today, we're hanging up the jersey of one of the best to play the game, probably the greatest shooter it'll ever see. it has been such a honor to watch you achieve every dream by your side. and i am so excited for the future that we're still building together. i love you so fucking much, az."

paige needs to wrap this up before she starts sobbing into the mic.

"here's to the princess. let's give her a bow."

the crowd erupted at that, everyone standing to their feet. paige walked over to azzi, handing over the mic before placing a small kiss on her lips. there were a tear running down azzi's face which paige wiped away.

"had to make me cry, huh?"

"wouldn't have been the perfect jersey retirement with some waterworks."

azzi got up to go to the floor, and paige took her seat, lifting maya into her lap and giving jordan a high five.

she mumbles into the mic while finding her position. "why did i let paige go first, now i gotta top that."

the crowd laughs lightly at that.

"don't worry, you've seen paige and i in media together. i don't like to talk as much as her, so we won't be here for much longer."

paige feels a laugh punch out of that, azzi's dry humor constantly surprising her.

"in 2013, gary knox went to a game at hopkins high school and saw a twelve year old paige play. he then tweeted that one line that we've all seen, 'remember the name: paige bueckers.' he even included a picture of paige in a very fashionable orange headband and that signature smile of hers."

azzi smirks at her when she notices the way paige cringes. paige just wishes everyone would stop bringing up the way she looked in the 2010s.

"that was the first time someone went online and acknowledged paige's greatness, but it would be far from the last. paige's name has been in the same sentence as the word 'goat' since her freshman year. and she's proven again and again, with her championships, gold medals, various accolades, that she deserves the label."

"but what i remember isn't how she was the greatest of all time. it was how she was the greatest person of all time. she was always the first to check on her teammates, always willing to drop everything to make sure that they were okay. she stood up for the people she believed in and the people who believed in her. out of everything, what everyone who's met paige remembers about her is her beautiful soul and kind heart."

azzi stopped, taking a deep breath. her voice was a bit more vulnerable after that. she looked directly at paige, tears brimming her eyes.

"the valks had actually reached out to me a two years ago and asked if they could retire my jersey. but i told them to wait until you retired because this is where i want to be for the rest of eternity. right next to you. 535 forever, watching over the team we helped build together."

"paige madison bueckers, the love of my life, the mother of my children, and my basketball goat, you really are one of the best of us and it is one of greatest joys of my life to have my jersey retired alongside yours. thank you for everything, baby."

paige can't help herself after that. she rushes towards her wife, wrapping her in the tightest hug she could and burying her face into the crook of azzi's neck. both of her kids follow suit, tucking their tiny bodies in the small spaces between paige and azzi.

they just held each other.

the crowd fell away entirely, leaving only two jerseys, 5 and 35, hanging overhead.

_____ ___ _____

sunlight streamed in through the window, harshly dragging paige to wakefulness.

she grunts, sitting up with the gracefulness of a baby hippo. goddamn, would it kill azzi to close the blinds every once in a while she thinks, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

the bathroom door bursts open and out walks the very girl occupying her thoughts. azzi had on a cream blouse that was tucked into a matching pair of slacks, all perfectly tailored. white had always looked absolutely delectable on azzi's caramel skin and paige can feel her brain short-circuit at the sight. not to mention, she's wearing her number 5 necklace that always make paige think mine, mine, mine.

"good, you're awake."

paige just looks at her kind of dumbly. "huh."

"i've got a meeting in thirty, so i'll drop maya at daycare. jordan's got basketball camp today, so you need to get her breakfast and drop her off. then i need someone to pick up maya from day care, and pick up some food for dinner tonight. got that?"

it is too early in the morning for this. "uh, huh."

azzi pecks her cheek and paige leans into the touch like she always does. she grabs her stuff and leaves to deal with maya who has somehow already started to cry.

paige kicks off her blankets. "man, i thought retirement would be more relaxing."

[crashingcryptid]

Creature comfort - part 2

Summary: Pack 141 now has a new pack member, and none of thm quite know how to handle it. You know what your job is, and you will not be detered from doing it. You know how to handle the trauma and neglect oozing off of them, but does the team know how to let you in?

Laswell takes you around base, which is smaller than you expected, but it made sense. Specialized task force, fewer people to train, and more space for them to be a pack. It was a sizeable living space, but it was horribly bright, without any proper comfort items. Nothing cozy, warm, or familiar. Your stomach twists a little at the sight.

"Tell me about the team. I may not have worked with wolf hybrids before, but I know that's not typical behavior." You ask as Laswell leads you to the kitchen. It was a perfect size, but everything was unused... and dusty. "Don't tell me there isn't anyone cooking meals here... You have wolf hybrids on base, but no cook?!"

Laswell holds up her hands defensively, ears lowering when you fix her with a dark glare. "This is why I needed a caregiver so urgently. That's why I asked for you. You know how to bond with traumatized hybrids. This is a trauma filled team who have negleted their instincts." Laswell says, watching as you thump your foot a few times.

"They can't..." You're foot thumps hard on the floor one final time, and you take in a deep breath. "I'm going to take care of them, Laswell. If they've been this long ignoring their instincts, I know exactly what I need to do."

Laswell warned you that Ghost would likely be the hardest to care for, the most guarded it seemed, and you didn't believe in saving the worst for last. You knock at his barrack door, waiting for a few moments and hearing him shuffling around inside.

"Ghost, I will not go away, but I am not going to barge into your room. You can not avoid taking your medication. If you try, you'll learn first hand that I can out wait you." You advised, opening up the bag of jerky.

The door knob twists and the door creaks open, Simons eyes peering out at you. No, not at you, the bag of jerky.

Gotcha.

"Hello, Ghost. I have two vitamins, an allergy pill, and your anxiety medication." You began holding up the small cup with the pills. "I promise, for each pill you take, I will give you a piece of jerky. Sound good?" You prompted and Ghost out right snarls at you.

"That doesn't scare me. You do that again, you'll get no jerky for a week."

The sharpness in your tone caught Ghost off guard. It was just as aggressive, as gutteral as his snarl had been, and it startled him. How could a bunny startle him? His ears drop, eyes wide as he opens his door all the way. You said nothing, firmly holding his gaze as you extended the pill cup and a small cup of water.

Ghost holds back what feels like a whimper. He doesn't whimper and takes the two cups, downing the pills and then the water.

Click "Good boy."

Ghost sputters on the last of his water, glaring at you and opening his mouth to yell at you, or maybe snarl again, but he stops short. A piece of jerky was held out between your fingers, and when he looked back up at you, you were genuinely smiling at him.

"Go on, hun. You took your meds, and now you get your treat." You prod gently, testing the waters of praise that Ghost would allow.

"I don't need treats." Ghost grunts, but he eats the treat right from your hand, nipping your fingers a little as he does.

Click.

This was going to be much easier than you thought.

Hungry.... That didn't even begin to cover how Gaz felt. He was starving. The jerky from Y/N after his medication had sparked something, a deep hunger that he'd gotten really good at ignoring over the years. Soilders get hungry sometimes. That's part of the job.

But now he's pacing outside of the locked kitchen, pressing and clawing slightly at the door every so often like that would grant him access inside. Someone was in there, cooking something, and he was hungry.

Gaz whines, the noise shocking him in the quiet empty hallway, and immediately backing up from the kitchen door. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Before he could dwell on the question too long, the kitchen door swings open, and there you stand, obviously concerned. "Gaz? Was that you?" You question, Gaz looking behind you into the kitchen, eagerly sniffing the air.

Your heart breaks at how hungry he looks, practically drooling on himself and looking down at you guiltily. "I-I'm really, really hungry." Gaz admits after a moment, tucking his tail just slightly.

"Well, that's good, it's almost dinner time." You say, grabbing two pieces of jerky from your bag. "Can you go tell everyone while I plate everything up? Here's a little snack while you walk." Gaz eagerly perks at that, tail wagging a little as he takes the pieces of jerky.

"Thank you! I will." He assures, unconcously sniffing, than licking your hand before he heads down the hall toward Price's office first. Click. His ears perk at the sound, and he turns to look back at you, his actions catching up with him.

"Go on, hun." You encourage, and Gaz blushes slightly before beginning to walk again. Maybe there were drugs in the jerky because Gaz has never fed into his instincts like that since... well, since he was a puppy.

He finishes the last of his treat and licks his lips, stomach growling loudly again. He'd figure out how he felt about this after he had dinner.

I can not believe the overwheming support that this story got, and I hope you guys enjoy this part as much as the first one. I can't wait to get deeper into this fic and have our bunny become a stable support for our boys. I'll start working on part 3 soon

Taglist: @herefor-tojis-tits @succulambb @thetastewassweeter @lilynotdilly @littlethingsinlife @graduallyskepticalvampire @armycaralover

[sillygoofyqueer]

Guys I know I have other AUs to post about but are we really surprised that I have a KPOP Demon Hunters x MXTX AU idea? Are we reaaalllly surprised about it? I mean, come on guys. It was bound to happen. Come on. Do you even know me. Let's just get it over and done with, come on- stop- STOP STRUGGLING-- IT'S GOING TO HAPPEN---- Lan Zhan, AKA Lan Wangji, main singer and composer of CVZ (I was thinking about what the group had in common, thought 'cultivators!' and then was like 'hehe CultiVatorZ'. That sounds stupid as all hell, so I shortened it down! Sounds like something Shang Qinghua would do). He works with Shen Yuan, AKA Shen Qingqiu, main rapper and lyricist, Xie Lian, main dancer and choreographer, and Shang Qinghua, the manager of the group. His father? Famed cultivator/main singer of the group, CR. His mother? Uhhh...😬 so she was a demon...yyyeeeaaahhh. We don't talk about it. After his father died (they say he was killed by his demon lover, but do we believe it?), he and his elder brother (Lan Huan, AKA Lan Xichen, of the Venerated Triad) were raised by Lan Qiren (former member of CR), who taught them how to hide their patterns. He did this because he was scared of the other members of the Lan Clan, who are all about 'keeping the bloodline pure' and would definitely have killed the babies in the name of 'justice'.

When they aren't blowing people's minds on stage, they're hunting demons. Shen Yuan comes from Cang Qiong Sect (one of many other training institutions for demon hunters) and so does Shang Qinghua, who was originally supposed to be the third member of CVZ - until, of course, they found Xie Lian. How did they find Xie Lian? They were out on a practice mission, to see how well their voices melded, when Xie Lian came out of NOWHERE and helped them beat the shit out of the demons. Although Shang Qinghua could definitely still have been part of the group, he went "oh, wow! There's your third member! I guess I'll have to content myself with being a manager, aw man." He was not upset, and Shen Yuan seemed fine with it as long as he got his emotional support bobo doll one way or another. So, Xie Lian joined the group, and CVZ was formed. Shen Yuan uses war fans, of course, Lan Zhan uses Bichen (Wangji has plot relevance for later), and with Xie Lian I'm a bit stuck. I want to give him a unique weapon, but he's sword nerd 2000. I was thinking some sort of whip with a blade on the end (like Ruoye) but I'm willing to be swayed!

Because CVZ is so popular, they often attend meet & greets and different events for aspiring idol groups - 'as a show of goodwill!!' says Shang Qinghua, who wants to scope out the competition and crush them - and often perform there as enticement for other people to show up. After all, people may be intrigued by aspiring idol groups, but people would love to see CVZ performing, so they can get a crowd drawn in for the aspiring groups! Plus, and this is the sneaky reason why Shang Qinghua sends them to do it, sometimes it crushes the spirits of aspiring groups because CVZ is just so perfect that it's hard to see how anyone could even begin to compete with them for an audience. He has an in depth calendar for all of them to follow, but Xie Lian and Shen Yuan both rely on Lan Zhan to remind them because Shen Yuan has no time to check the calendar and Xie Lian doesn't...own a phone?? They don't ask about it, but if they did, he would say something cryptid about how 'they would find me.' No, Lan Zhan is like Shang Qinghua's angel when it comes to being prepared for things.

So, they're at one of these events, and they're watching a couple of the groups that Shang Qinghua has internally labelled as a 'threat', and Lan Zhan is only sort of interested in the groups until the stage goes dark and a new group comes out. It's a bit dramatic, but it does catch people's attention, and Shang Qinghua's like "hm...I dunno who these guys are!" but he's not too worried about it. Then the stage lights come on and the group starts singing, and it's like "ah. Oh dear. Hm. They're not only attractive, but they're like a well-oiled, well choreographed machine with amazing vocals." Lan Zhan himself can only really watch as who he assumes to be the main singer (and perhaps the leader?) of the group sings like an angel and firmly steals his heart. He's embarrassed to admit that he wouldn't have even noticed the patterns on his arms if it weren't for the sleeve of his hoodie being pulled up during a particular move. A quick glance at the other members shows that they have the yellow eyes of demons as well. He points this out to the others, and they're just as confused as he is by this...group.

Wei Ying is a simple guy, alright? His mother was a demon, his father was a cultivator, he grew up in a clan of demon hunters, you know how the story goes! Well, his story is a little different to Lan Zhan's. Jiang Fengmian was not the only one who knew about his patterns - Jiang Yanli knew as well, and helped him keep it hidden from her mother (and Jiang Cheng, who Wei Ying thought would hate him for being half-demon). Because Jiang Fengmian himself had interacted with a demon (Cangse-Sanren), he knows what she had done to hide her patterns, and teaches him how to do the same. However, during a particularly vicious whipping following a bad argument with Madam Yu, Wei Ying lost his control and his secret was out. Of course, he had to flee his home to avoid being mercilessly slaughtered by her and her companions, so he's basically on the run in the cultivator world. He's having A Time with it all. He's too scared to even cultivate for fear of being spotted by any cultivators in disguise, so he kind of loses it and makes up a new form of cultivation, trying to get in touch with his demon side a little.

While he's struggling to survive on the streets and avoid any cultivators for his own safety, he learns about CVZ. He had heard about them while in the clan, but he now finds himself clinging to them as though to distract himself from his awful, shitty life. He learns everything about them - he knows they're hunters too, but they're just so...they're everything he thought he would be able to be someday. It gets to the point where he thinks 'well why the fuck can't it be me? I don't need shitty cultivators..' and fucks around with his cultivation more. He learns to how use his cultivation to create little tears in the Honmoon and close them up again, to summon and even control demons. And so, auditions begin! Most of the demons he manages to summon are some sort of violent and/or just bad at singing, and don't really want to be in a boyband, so he kills them if they're violent or ushers them back through the tear with cultivation if they aren't. It keeps him busy while always being on the move, and he almost forgets why he's doing it when the first demon comes out. He's rather suave and doesn't really know what boybands are, but then Wei Ying shows him a video of CVZ to demonstrate a group to him, he goes "DIANXIA?!?" and immediately asks if this 'boyband' will get him close to Xie Lian.

[lansfavboy]

hey i’ve got a request! i don’t know if you do top!oscar/bottom!lando but something post-silverstone where oscar’s raging and has nowhere to put his anger and landos there and willing and the moment sorta builds up and it gets crazy from there

hi anon!! my first request and i'm so very happy x hope you enjoy!!

♡ pairing: bottom!lando norris x top!oscar piastri ♡ warnings: post silverstone, angst if you squint, VERY SMUTTY, free use lando?, degrading language, very brief hatred towards magui, dubcon if you squint, oral & anal, not proofread! ♡ word count: 1.3k

Silverstone didn’t go as Oscar wanted.

It was obvious. A forced smile on the podium, the pissed off radio message after a mistake a 4 time world champion made on a weekly basis.

None of it was fair. 

Now he was standing in his driver room, absolutely fuming, hands in his hair, pulling a bit too hard to be considered ‘okay,’ pacing like a stressed team principal.

Lando had disappeared somewhere, probably getting head from his stupid current toy, who followed him around like a lost puppy. Magui was like that with a lot of men, as Oscar had learnt from his coworkers chatting shit about her.

The thought of them together pissed him off even more. Lando should be here with him, doing his usual speech of “it’s okay, mate, next time, yeah? Just a silly mistake.”

He knew he’d liked him for a while. His body, at least. The tan abs, the perfectly sculpted biceps, the goatee he’d dreamt about seeing covered in his own cum late at night. 

Too good for Magui. Too out of reach for Oscar.

A knock on the door broke his train of thought, the Aussie reluctantly spinning on his heel to open it a bit too aggressively.

Lando.

Like he’d manifested it.

The older man gave a shy smile, almost bashful.

“Yes?” He didn’t mean to sound so rude, truly. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

Lando swallowed, stepping in with his P1 cap still covering his curls, smelling like champagne and victory.

“I uhh- wanted to see you. Make sure you were alright after… ya know.”

Oscar held back a scoff, wiping a hand over his face in frustration. Of course he wasn’t ‘alright.’ His race was ruined and the team didn’t give a flying fuck. Suddenly Alpine didn’t seem like a bad option anymore; at least they’d value him.

“Brilliant, mate.”

Lando sighed, leaning back on the now shut door and crossing his arms across his soaked chest. 

“Don’t be like that, Oscar; just admit it wasn’t the right move.”

Oh. So we’re doing this?

Oscar scoffed, stepping closer and gripping the shorter man's jaw, forcing him to look up at him.

“Are you shitting me? You say you’re here to check on me and then decide to rile me up more? Fucking hell, Lando.”

Lando stared up defiantly, that usual somewhat frustrated look in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care about helping you at least a little.”

“And you’ll help me how? Tell Stella to stop the damn favouritism? You’re in the wrong place for that, mate.”

Lando rolled his eyes, semi-pulling away from Oscar’s grip. They’d both only just realised how close they were currently standing, chests scraping the other.

“I’m just- I’m here if you need to, like…” he made some odd hand movements, gesturing to Oscar like he couldn’t find the correct words. “If you have to expel any extra emotions. You know.”

Oscar paused.

Took a breath.

Stared at Lando’s eyes, which at this point were practically begging him to catch on so he wouldn’t have to spell it out.

“You’ll let me fuck you?”

Lando hesitated, then nodded.

Oscar didn’t need to be told twice. He was on him in a second.

His lips found Lando’s neck instantly, his teeth scraping along his adams apple, causing a shiver down both mens spines. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” Oscar’s tone was gravelly and desperate as he sucked a hickey into the other’s neck, not caring who’d see it. There was no media work until the end of the month. Who cared?

The whine that slipped out of Lando’s mouth made him think he’d wanted it just as long. He probably hated his girlfriend, just waiting for a chance to escape her.

Oscar’s hand left his jaw to lock the door, returning to palm his bulge, earning a groan out of the Brit before pushing him to his knees.

“You wanna help? Suck.”

Lando tugged Oscar’s shorts down, hands lingering on his thighs. He’d always had a fixation on them, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

His cock sprang out quickly like it’d been waiting for the chance to finally make an appearance, already dripping and hard after just a few kisses. His eyes caught Lando’s, the previous frustration replaced by surprise.

“Jesus- you’re fucking packing in there mate.”

“Don’t call me mate when you’re about to choke on me, Lando.”

He forced his head down before he could reply, hand threading through his hair and guiding him slowly and deeply.

Lando was already choking and drooling, tears pooling in his eyes as he took him in inch by inch. 

“Atta boy… so good, Lan. Choke on it for me.”

Oscar began to quicken his guidance, a groan echoing into the tiny room, mouth falling open as Lando continued—though it isn’t like he had any choice with the grip Oscar currently had on him.

As the Aussie got closer, he yanked Lando off, pulling him up and bending him over the massage table Kim had left prior to his shitshow of a race.

“You’re gonna take it. You’re gonna be loud. You’re gonna let me cum inside you. Got it?”

“Yes- yes, Osc-”

Oscar slid a hand under his waistband to grab a handful of his arse before pushing his joggers down and kneeling behind him.

“No boxers, hm? Slut. Knew what was coming.”

His tongue slid into Lando’s hole slowly, hands gripping the man’s hips whilst he fidgeted around, squirming at the feeling.

The feeling was heavenly, Oscar’s fingers creeping closer to his entrance, prodding around.

He slid a finger in, slowly starting to drag in and out of Lando’s now wet hole. A small gasp left his lips as he tried to thrust backwards onto it for more. Another entered, then a third, stretching him out relentlessly.

When he was content, Oscar bent over to grab the lube he kept in his backpack for emergency situations (which genuinely started when his thighs would chafe in hotter races). He squeezed some on his fingers and his cock, trying his best to warm it up before lining himself up behind Lando and pushing in slowly.

“Shit- shit shit shit Oscar- what the fuck-” Lando was blabbering on about god knows what as he gripped the table for dear life, his knuckles turning white instantly. 

“Have you never taken it up the arse before?” He chuckled almost cruelly, pausing once he bottomed out for Lando to adjust.

Lando whined, taking a few breaths. “Of course I have- shit- just not like this.”

A pause.

“Can you move now for fucks sa-”

He was cut off by an involuntary moan as Oscar began to thrust in and out, panting through his teeth. 

Oscar moved a hand to push Lando’s back into a harsh arch, the other trailing up to his mouth to stuff half his fist in to keep him silent.

“Shut up. Pathetic.”

He started to get faster, panting louder as he bit back groans at how tight Lando was around him. He was partially convinced this was his first time, but it was a bit late to go gentle now.

“Even a bastard when you win. Never happy, are you, Norris? Nothing is ever good enough.”

Oscar was rambling now. Spitting out whatever he could think of as he grabbed the back of Lando’s shirt, staring at the ‘4’ on it, angry tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

It’d be a ‘1’ soon, probably. If he continued how he was.

He thrust faster, harder, deeper, biting his tongue so hard he thought blood would be dripping out his mouth by now.

“F-fuck, close, Osc.”

Lando’s words pulled him back to reality, the muffled words around his fist causing him to push it further into his mouth. 

“Gonna fill you up, hopeless whore.”

Oscar let go, almost collapsing onto Lando as he stuttered to a stop, Lando finishing simultaneously and making a mess on the floor.

He pulled out after a second, watching his cum drip out slowly, running down the Brit’s legs.

“Good boy. Finally did something good for me.”

[thepinkpanther83]

Imagine,

BFF!Reader puts viagra in Eddie's drink, and Eddie struggles to hide his boner then asks Reader for help, not knowing she was the one that put him in his predicament.

Please and thank you.

❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤

Hard Truths

One-Shot Request: “BFF!Reader x Eddie Munson Request”

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

💌 Author’s Note: A huge thank you to @meankenna for this chaotic and incredibly fun request! You know how to bring out the absolute menace in Reader and make poor Eddie suffer in the best ways. I had fun turning this smutty setup into something shameless, sweet, and totally on-brand for our disaster duo. I hope this story gives you every giggle and groan you were craving. 💋

~Pinkie 🍒

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

🎸🧋Summary: Eddie Munson’s always been cocky, loud, and way too confident for his own good. But when a prank from his best friend backfires in the filthiest, most unexpected way… he finds himself in very unfamiliar territory, flustered, wrecked, and maybe finally ready to admit the truth he’s been dodging for years.

It starts with a hard-on. It ends with something even harder… feelings.

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

“Hard Truths”

It’s the end of the school day, and you’ve barely tossed your backpack into Eddie’s beat-up van before he starts up again.

“-and then she asked for my number,” Eddie’s saying, grinning around a fresh cigarette, elbow leaning out the driver’s side window. “Didn’t even have to try. I just exist and they flock, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes so hard you practically give yourself whiplash. “Eddie. You were trying. I watched you nearly drop a stack of metal magazines trying to grab that poor woman’s attention.”

He sucks in a drag, eyes squinting in mock offense. “That was strategy. Drop something, she helps pick it up, sparks fly… it’s practically physics.”

“Physics would’ve been not tripping over your own feet.”

He laughs like you’re his favorite comedian, but it doesn’t stop the brag train.

“I’m just saying, I’m built different. Steel trap focus. Mental stamina of a goddamn monk. I could go hours without cracking, even if someone tried to make me squirm.”

You raise your brow slowly, slanting your head in quiet challenge.

“Oh yeah?”

Eddie catches it. Smirks. “C’mon, babe. I’ve seen shit that’d melt your pretty little eyeballs. You think I can’t handle a little pressure?”

You hum thoughtfully, tugging open the cooler at your feet in the van’s floorboard. Inside are the usual half-melted ice packs and gas station sodas, plus one very specific can you prepped just for this occasion, label swapped, contents tweaked, timing perfect.

“You want a drink, hotshot?”

He nods, still smug. “Make it something cold. I’m burning up from all this testosterone.”

You grab the doctored Coke and hand it to him with your sweetest smile.

“Hope you’re feelin’ confident, Munson,” you say, watching as he takes a deep, unassuming swig.

“Real easy to stay cool under pressure.”

You swear he shivers just a little, but that’s probably just your imagination.

Probably.

Earlier that week, school parking lot, post-lunch chaos…

The sun was high. The pavement smelled like burnt rubber and cafeteria grease. You were halfway to your car with Gareth when the ambush hit.

SNAP! CRACKLE! POP!

A string of firecrackers went off under the metal stairwell just behind you.

You jumped a full foot in the air, nearly dropped your drink, heart slamming against your ribs like a panic attack in fast-forward.

Gareth screamed like he was being murdered. Real horror movie shit. Full soprano.

Cue Eddie Munson, cackling like a goblin from across the lot, doubled over against his van with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth and a lighter in his hand.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed, pointing at you and Gareth. “That was so much better than I thought it’d be, did you see her face? She went full Scooby-Doo mode-”

You stalked over. “You’re such a dick.”

He just laughed harder. “A creative dick.”

Gareth wiped ash off his jeans. “You’re gonna die.”

Eddie winked. “Only if I die laughing, big boy.”

Later that night, the plan was born.

You and Gareth on the back porch of your house, bottles of soda between you, scheming like the unhinged gremlins he trained you both to be.

“Viagra,” Gareth whispered like it was a war strategy.

Your eyes lit up. “You genius.”

He grinned. “No permanent damage. Just an extremely awkward night.”

“And the best part?” You leaned back, already picturing it. “We don’t even have to do anything. Just watch him suffer.”

You high-fived on it.

You never imagined it would escalate this well.

The lights are low, the VHS is rolling, and Eddie Munson is dying.

Not dramatically. Not loudly. Not in any way that anyone else would notice.

But you’re watching him like a hawk.

You’re draped over the far side of the couch with a bowl of popcorn in your lap while Gareth, Jeff, Grant and a couple other regulars sprawl around the room, half-watching some B-grade slasher flick. The room’s thick with weed smoke and body heat, but it’s not the movie or the joint making Eddie sweat.

It’s the boner.

Eddie is sitting cross-legged on the floor directly in front of the couch, and he’s been shifting for the last twenty minutes. Legs stretching, then curling. Elbows propped on knees one second, then back bracing him up the next. He keeps clearing his throat. Adjusting his shirt. Tucking a throw pillow onto his lap like he’s trying to be casual.

He’s failing. Spectacularly.

You lean forward slightly, fingers playing in the popcorn.

“You good, big guy?” you ask, all false concern, pitching your voice just above the chainsaw screams coming from the TV.

Eddie flinches, eyes cutting sideways to you. “Huh? Yeah. Peachy.”

He stretches his neck. Rolls his shoulders. Licks his lips like he’s trying to focus.

“…Just. Uh. Brain freeze.”

“Didn’t know brain freeze affected your whole body,” you murmur.

He glares at you for exactly 1.5 seconds before sharply turning back to the TV, arms crossing like he’s trying to shrink himself.

You take another lazy handful of popcorn, chewing slowly. The bulge in his sweatpants is unmistakable now, thick and insistent. He’s trying to shift again, pretending to scratch his thigh when his knuckles graze his own crotch and he winces.

You barely stop the giggle that tries to crawl up your throat.

This is going perfectly.

And he has absolutely no idea what’s happening to him.

You reach down and gently nudge him with your toe. “You sure? You look kinda… tense.”

He glares again, lower lip caught between his teeth. His voice is tight. Nearly a whisper.

“Dude. Don’t. Don’t make me talk right now.”

“What? Scared something might… come up?”

His entire face turns a shade of red you didn’t know Eddie Munson was capable of producing.

You smile. Lean back. Pop another kernel in your mouth with exaggerated delight.

Payback is so, so sweet.

Eddie tries to shift around on the ground again. You catch it, the little wince, the way his hand darts down to subtly adjust the front of his pants, and the tight, frustrated swallow that follows.

You lean back, pretending to focus on the screen, but your peripheral vision is locked in. He’s sweating now. Not buckets, but enough to make his curls stick a little at his temples. The cocky gleam in his eyes is gone, replaced with twitchy panic.

He clears his throat and grabs another throw pillow, laying it across his lap like it’s part of his décor. You watch as he tugs at the hem of his shirt, trying to stretch it downward like he’s about to discover a new law of physics.

He won’t look at you. His jaw ticks, his foot bounces.

Eddie mutters, “Jesus Christ… why now?”

You smile sweetly and offer him a fresh slice of pizza like you didn’t just watch him go through all seven stages of erectile grief.

Getting up and heading into Eddie’s kitchen, you’re standing at the counter, halfway through pouring a glass of soda, when you hear the sound of frantic sock-sliding steps behind you.

“Hey-” Eddie’s voice cracks, high-pitched and unsteady. You turn just in time to see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen, breath shallow, eyes wild.

His cheeks are flushed, curls slightly damp, and he’s got one hand buried deep in the pocket of his sweatpants like he’s trying to hold a grenade pin in place. The other hand is white-knuckled on the counter’s edge, like he needs it to anchor himself to the physical plane.

You blink. “You okay?”

“No,” he hisses through gritted teeth, stepping closer like every movement costs him something. “No, I am very much not okay.”

You hide your grin behind the rim of your glass and tilt your head like a concerned school nurse. “What’s going on?”

His face scrunches up. He gestures vaguely at his lower half. “I don’t know, alright? Something’s wrong. Something’s… off.” He runs a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “I’ve had a fucking boner for, like, an hour, and it won’t go away. I’ve tried everything short of sandpaper and an exorcism.”

You bite your lip. “You’re... hard?”

Eddie glares. “Painfully.”

You give him your best fake-concerned gasp, even as you lean a little closer, mock sympathy painted across your features. “Eddie Munson… the great conqueror of women… is down bad with a boner he can’t control?”

He lets out a strained noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a groan, clutching the counter for balance.

“Don’t mock me right now. My dick feels like it’s gonna combust.”

For a second, all you can do is stare.

He’s pacing now, slow, desperate laps around the kitchen like a guy trying to outrun his own erection. His fingers keep twitching near the waistband of his sweats like he’s thinking of adjusting again but knows it’s useless. His jaw flexes like he’s trying to chew down a groan.

God, you didn’t mean for it to actually mess with him this much.

The prank was supposed to be harmless… just a little ego check. Something that would leave him flustered and vaguely confused, not full-on tortured. And now here he is, red-faced, sweating bullets, shifting uncomfortably like he’s got a crisis going on between his legs.

You set your glass down. Swallow once.

“Eds…”

He turns toward you so fast it makes his curls sway. “What.”

You hesitate, chewing your lip, then take a cautious step forward. “I might be able to help.”

He squints. “Help? Like… Google some remedies or something? Cold compress? Ice pack?”

You shake your head, and you’re almost blushing now. “Not exactly what I meant.”

Eddie’s brow furrows… until it doesn’t.

Until it clicks.

His whole face shorts out. He blinks, lips parting, jaw falling slack. “…Wait.”

You lift your hands. “Just to relieve the pressure, okay? This isn’t, like, a thing.”

He’s still staring, frozen like you just offered him a million dollars and also punched him in the face at the same time.

“…You’d do that?” he asks finally, voice hoarse.

You shrug. “I mean. You’re clearly not gonna survive the night otherwise.”

A moment passes.

“Okay,” he whispers, nodding furiously. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, please. God.”

You step closer, fingers hooking into the collar of his shirt, and he lets you steer him out of the kitchen and down the hall like a man under hypnosis.

You’ve barely made it three steps down the hallway before Eddie turns over his shoulder and yells, voice cracking, “Hey… uh… movie night’s over! Y’all can see yourselves out!”

You hear Gareth laughing somewhere in the living room, a faint, “Yeah, figured as much,” before the front door creaks open.

You don’t wait for it to shut.

You steer Eddie straight into his room, hand wrapped tight around his shirt collar like you’re the one in control, but the moment the door closes behind you, the air changes. Dense. Electric.

He stands there, utterly still. Eyes wide. Breathing ragged.

And you can feel it, the tension rolling off him, the arousal coiled like a spring, the way his sweatpants tent at the front so hard it looks painful.

His voice is shredded when he speaks. “You’re serious. This is seriously happening.”

You walk him backward toward the bed, your tone light but firm. “Get comfortable, Munson.”

He falls back onto the mattress like gravity gave up trying to fight you. His curls fan out on the bed, his eyes locked on yours like he still thinks he might be hallucinating.

You hook your fingers into his waistband, slow and deliberate, and tug his sweats down over his hips.

Jesus.

He’s hard. Angry red and leaking already, twitching with every heartbeat. Your mouth practically waters at the sight.

He watches your face like a man about to be executed, equal parts fear and awe.

Then your hand wraps around him and begins to stroke.

He gasps, sharp and immediate, hips jerking.

“Fuck-” he chokes, already clutching at the sheets like you’ve cast some kind of spell. “You… your hands are like… fuckin’ magic, sweetheart.”

You start slow. Just your palm and fingers, gentle and slick. Then firmer. More deliberate.

He moans through his teeth. Swears. Drops his head back and mutters your name like it’s the only thing he remembers.

And when your mouth replaces your hand…

His soul leaves his body.

Fingers twist into your hair, pulling hard enough to tell you he’s hanging on by a thread.

“Holy shit,” he groans. “I- fuck… I need it now, sweetheart. I need… please-”

You lift your head just long enough to lock eyes with him, breath hot against the head of his cock.

“I thought you said you could handle anything, Munson.”

He lets out a ragged laugh, more air than sound, and chokes on his own words as you take him deep again. He slips off his shirt and tosses it aside, his body overheated with arousal.

He’s panting now. Open-mouthed, wild-eyed. Your lips still slick from where you just had him on your tongue.

“Fuck,” he hisses again, palms planting flat on the bed as he tries to get his bearings, tries to stop his hips from thrusting up into your mouth.

You blink up at him, innocent as sin. “What’s the matter, Munson? Need a minute?”

“No.” His voice cracks as he surges up, grabbing you with a kind of raw desperation you’ve never seen in him before. “I need you.”

And just like that, you’re flipped onto your back, your hair fanning across his sheets like his had, laughter catching in your throat before it’s swallowed by a kiss that’s messy, hungry, and full of tongue and teeth.

“Too fuckin’ much,” he growls against your mouth, fumbling with the waistband of your jeans, and groping at your body desperately. “You… your mouth… fuck, I can’t-”

You giggle breathlessly, lifting your hips to help him. “Jesus, Eddie, you’re acting like this is the first time you’ve seen a pair of tits.”

“Shut up,” he mutters, eyes going wide as your shirt and bra hit the floor. “I’m trying not to explode.”

You’re naked in seconds. No finesse. No preamble. Just frantic fingers and yanked fabric and that look in his eyes like he’s about to devour you whole.

He positions you on your knees, the mattress creaking under both your weight and his urgency.

Then he slides inside.

“Fffffuck-” He gasps like he’s been punched in the gut.

You cry out at the stretch, he’s thick and twitching with need, and the way his hands grip your waist… Possessive, shaky, yet reverent.

He sets a brutal pace right out the gate. No buildup. Just need. Skin slapping skin, your thighs trembling under the force of it.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, fingers clutching the sheets as he fucks you like he’s got something to prove. “Eddie… Eddie-”

He groans behind you, low and guttural. “You feel so fuckin’ good… fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?”

You grin into the pillow, half-laughing between moans. “What? You can’t handle it?”

“I can handle-” he pants, “-so fuckin’ much, sweetheart. You have no idea.”

But it’s too much. He can’t hold back. His pace stutters, breaks. He chokes out your name with a broken sound as he cums, slamming deep and pulsing inside you.

Except…

He doesn’t go soft.

There’s a second of silence, just heavy breathing and the creak of the mattress.

He looks down.

“…Oh shit.”

You blink over your shoulder. “Still hard, huh?”

He looks haunted.

“What the fuck is up with me?”

You turn your head, eyes glinting. “I don’t know, Munson. Sounds like someone’s got some unfinished business.”

And you push back against him, slow, teasing, just to watch him break all over again.

Eddie’s still deep inside you, and still hard, dangerously so. His hands are splayed over your hips like he’s anchoring himself, like he doesn’t trust his own body to behave as he watches you ride his cock slowly.

He doesn’t move at first. Just breathes. Heavy. Dazed.

“…Okay,” he rasps. “What in the ever-loving fuck is happening right now?”

You peek back at him, bite your lip, and slowly grind back against him. His breath catches.

“Ohhh, sweetheart,” he groans. “Don’t do that. I just came, and you’re already… fuck-”

“Still up for it?” you ask sweetly, like you’re not dragging your soaked folds along his still-rigid cock just to watch him lose his mind.

“Still up-? Babe, I feel like I’m never going down again.”

And just like that… he snaps again.

Grabs a fistful of your hair, tugs you up so your spine arches into his chest.

“I told you,” he growls into your ear, hips beginning to thrust again, slow but deep, “I can handle pressure. I can handle you.”

You moan like you’re losing it, head falling back against his shoulder.

“Say it,” he pants. “Say my name.”

“Eddie-”

“Say it again.”

He’s pounding into you now, the second wind making him unhinged. It’s not just lust anymore, it’s something else. A challenge. A desperate need to make you feel what he’s feeling.

You claw at his sides, at his forearms, whatever you can reach. He’s holding you so tight you can feel every flex of his abs against your back.

Smack.

His palm lands on the side of your ass and you yelp.

“Gonna let me make you cum too, sweetheart?” he grits, “Gonna cum all over this cock like a fuckin’ good girl?”

You whimper in response, too fucked-out to speak. And he loves it.

He pulls out just enough to reach between your legs, his fingers slick and quick over your clit.

“Don’t hold it in,” he murmurs against your throat. “Cum for me. Cum so hard you milk me.”

You shatter around him, sobbing his name into the dim room, your whole body convulsing under the weight of it.

But Eddie… holy fuck, he groans loudly, spilling inside you again with a noise that sounds more beast than man.

He stays buried inside, chest heaving, mouth pressed to the slope of your neck.

“…I’m gonna die,” he whispers after a long silence. “This is how I die. Buried balls-deep in my best friend.”

You snort weakly. “What a legacy.”

His cock twitches. Still not soft.

You both go silent.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Eddie practically wails. “Why won’t it go down?!”

You giggle loudly.

“I’m serious!” Eddie whines, still buried in you, forehead pressed to your shoulder as he pants like he just ran a marathon. “It’s like… fuck… I’m stuck in horny purgatory.”

You’re still catching your breath, face flushed, body sore in every delicious way. But you can feel it too, his cock, still hard, twitching inside you like it has unfinished business.

“…Want to stop?” you ask innocently, rotating your hips and clenching around his cock. Testing him.

He groans like he’s in pain. His whole body tenses.

“Sweetheart,” he says slowly, voice ragged, “if you do that again, I’m gonna cry. Or cum again. Maybe both.”

You grin, then flip the script, pushing him onto his back on the bed and straddling him.

Then you ride him.

Again, no preamble. No teasing. Just roll your hips slow and filthy like you know exactly what you’re doing, because you do.

Eddie groans your name. His fingers claw into your thighs, eyes glassy with overstimulation.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, “this is… this is illegal. I swear… you’re gonna break me, baby, you’re gonna break me.”

He’s all grit and desperation now. Letting you take control. Mouth open, eyes fluttering shut when you grind down just right, clenching around him.

“Shit… shit-” he hisses through his teeth. “Why does it still feel so good? Is this what dying feels like?”

You lean down, kiss the corner of his open mouth.

“Want me to stop?” you whisper again.

His hands fist the sheets. “Fuck no. Use me. I’m yours. Just… please… fuck-”

You ride him harder.

The wet slap of skin fills the room again, your moans mixing with his wrecked whimpers as he stares at you like he’s in a dream.

And when he finally cums again, he practically sobs your name as your pussy milks him with your own release.

It’s obscene. Beautiful. A little pathetic. Everything he deserves.

He twitches inside you as you slow to a stop, muscles jerking, thighs shaking.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, completely wrecked, flopped back on the mattress like a man who’s seen the face of God.

You climb off slowly, already reaching for a towel and water bottle.

Eddie just stares at the ceiling, dazed.

“…Do I have a tumor?” he mumbles. “Is that what this is? Is my dick haunted?”

You can’t help it, you crack up. Cover your mouth to muffle the laugh, but it’s too late.

He narrows his eyes, blinking through his post-orgasm haze.

“…Why are you laughing at my terrible misfortune?”

“Because,” you say, biting your lip, “maybe I slipped something into your drink.”

He blinks. Once. Twice.

“...Like what.”

You bat your lashes. “Just a little blue… helper. For science.”

“Helper?”

You nod sweetly. “Viagra.”

His mouth drops open.

“You drugged me?”

“It’s FDA approved,” you argue, grinning now. “And technically it was Gareth’s idea.”

He covers his face with both hands.

“Oh my god. I’ve been chemically assaulted by my best friends.”

You crawl up beside him and press a kiss to his cheek.

“But you loved it.”

“…That’s not the point.”

But his arm still loops around you.

And he still cracks a smile.

You’re sprawled together in his bed now, limbs tangled, your cheek pressed against his chest while he catches what little breath he has left. His heart's still racing, thudding beneath your ear.

There’s silence, for once.

Then you quietly ask, “Are you mad at me?” as you bat your lashes at him, lifting your head, your voice all mock-innocent and sweet.

He turns his head to look at you.

Face flushed, hair a mess, lips still red and parted, and absolutely, undeniably done for.

“…You’re a menace.” A long pause. “You little shit.”

You’re about to apologize… kind of, but then he says, “I’m in love with you.”

It’s not shouted. Not dramatic. Just… said. Like it’s always been true and he’s finally not fighting it anymore.

Your breath catches. You blink. “What?”

Eddie grins, leans in, and kisses you, like he means it. Not just heat. Heart.

“You heard me.”

You melt right into it. The kiss, the arms around you, the feeling of his body softening against yours… finally giving in, finally safe.

When he pulls back, he taps your nose.

“You do realize you owe me at least three more ‘treatments,’ right? To offset the psychological trauma of being pranked with a boner pill?”

You snort. “Three more, huh?”

“At minimum.” He stretches like a cat, groans, then immediately winces. “Though I may need like… a week before I can even look at my dick again.”

You cuddle in close. “Worth it.”

He mumbles into your hair, “I’m gonna blow your back out.”

And he sounds delighted about it.

By the time sleep starts to tug at the corners of your vision, he’s whispering again, barely audible through the haze.

“…my evil little nurse. My best friend. The love of my life. Jesus Christ.”

A moment passes.

Then, smirking against your hair he says, “Next time you wanna get me hard, sweetheart… there are much more pleasurable ways to get what you want.”

You grin as you fall asleep in his arms, already plotting round four.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list! @justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust, @meankenna, @kellsck, @chronicles-of-koystee, @micheledawn1975, @fckyeahlames, @cantstandya2000, @totallysocially, @exasperatedsighohmy, @marianaissocool, @boggerslide, @sheneedsrocknroll92, @n3lly-h3artz, @comeonatmebruh, @goingxsteddie, @msmimiandrew, @cpnsteverogers

Masterlist

[kxsagi]

Hiii, I hope you're doing well. I discovered your acc a few weeks ago and read almost all of your works and THEY ARE SOOOOOOOO GOOD AND YOU WRITE SO WELL AAAHHH TAKE LOVE. This is actually my first request ever and I just saw that you're closing requests in 24 hours, that's why I wanted to request rn (I won't be available for the next two months T_T) ANYWAYS I want to request a Rin x reader where reader is a celebrated tennis player (grand slam champion) and goes on WTA tours and olympics. Rin and reader were once academic rivals who later slowly became friends (with unresolved feelings huuhuu). BUT after both got busier with football and tennis as their fame increased over the years in their respective fields, they slowly lost touch (although they'd still support each other silently from afar, like whenever rin had a match she would keep tabs on social media or vice versa). Reader and rin unexpectedly meets 5/6 years later when both are in their prime in a retirement ceremony of a famous tennis player where many celebrities were invited. The two gets a bit awkward (maybe sad deep down as well?) but slowly catch up

“𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞-𝐚𝐥𝐥”

a/n: hiii, i'm doing well and i hope you are, too! THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH, MY HEART IS DOING BACKFLIPS 💞💞💞

thank you for requesting and for being so patient, i had a LOAD of requests to complete before getting to yours 😔 and thank you for the detail it helps a lot!

you don’t expect to see him here. not at the retirement ceremony of your childhood tennis idol – an event filled with WTA legends, tennis veterans, agents, a few carefully selected celebrities, and enough sports media to fill a stadium. you’re used to standing under lights now, dressed in something elegant and camera-ready, with interviews that ask you about your training, your shoes, your skincare routine. but this isn’t your night. you’re just a guest. just a presence. just here to honor the woman who made you pick up a racquet in the first place. 

but across the sea of glittering gowns and tailored suits, he stands. 

rin itoshi. 

he’s taller than you remember. hair a little longer, like he couldn’t be bothered to style it more than that. the black suit he wears is sharp, tailored perfectly to his lean frame. he doesn’t smile, he rarely ever did, but his expression is quieter now. older. and when he turns, maybe because he feels your gaze on him, his eyes find you across the room. you freeze. 

for a moment, you don’t know what to do. your heart stutters somewhere between your ribs. five years. maybe six. it’s hard to count when you both stopped talking gradually, like a slow tide pulling away from the shore, until one day you looked down and realized the sand was dry. the last message you sent him had gone unanswered, not because he was angry, but because he was busy. and you understood. you were busy, too. it was easier not to follow up. easier to pretend the space didn’t matter when it grew so quietly. 

but now he’s walking over, and you can’t look away. 

he stops a foot in front of you. “you play tennis now?” he says. his voice is deeper than you remember, still carrying that signature deadpan delivery. you blink once, then smile, because something about that flat tone still makes your chest warm. 

“no,” you reply, lifting your glass slightly. “just here for the free wine.” 

his lip quirks, just slightly, like you said something vaguely amusing. it’s not quite a smile. but it’s not nothing, either. 

you both fall into a strange silence after that, standing shoulder to shoulder while the ceremony continues on stage. someone’s giving a speech about legacy and inspiration, the crowd murmuring with polite awe. but you can’t hear much of it. your thoughts are too loud. he’s too close. 

it’s strange. you’d spent years being side by side with him – rivals at first, two top students fighting for grades with the kind of stubborn pride that made teachers sigh and classmates groan. he was brilliant. distant. sharp in both mind and tongue. and you were the only one who could keep up. so naturally, you butted heads. constantly. one week he’d outrank you in calculus. the next, you’d score higher in literature. it wasn’t healthy competition, but it was real. and somewhere along the way, it turned into something else. 

you’d find yourself studying together at the back of the library, sitting closer than necessary. exchanging flashcards and eye rolls, walking home after practice, quietly trading playlists without saying why. you can’t remember when you started thinking about him outside of school. when your heart began to jump whenever he leaned too close, or looked too long. but it happened. slowly, then all at once. 

and then it stopped. 

he left for europe. you got your first grand slam wildcard. and everything became interviews, flights, press, training, more training, loneliness, and headlines. the texts grew shorter. the calls more spaced out. and when the silence settled in, neither of you broke it. 

you wonder now if he missed you. 

he speaks before you can. “you’ve done well,” he says quietly, eyes still on the screen where highlight reels flash behind the speaker. “grand slams. olympics. number one in the world.” 

you glance at him. “you kept up?” 

his gaze flickers to yours. “you trended every time. wasn’t hard.” 

there’s a beat of silence. your throat tightens. you don’t know why it hurts to hear that he was watching. maybe because you were watching, too. 

“you too,” you whisper. “champions league. world cup. i watched.” 

he doesn’t respond right away, but the shift in his expression is subtle – just a breath of emotion in the stillness of his face. you look away before it can feel like too much. there’s something old and aching sitting between you now, like a book you never finished but kept on the shelf anyway. you tell yourself it was the right choice, the silence, the distance. it was practical. you had your world, he had his. it would’ve been too hard to hold on. 

but seeing him now – older, sharper, successful in all the ways the world measures – it feels like you both lost something that had nothing to do with tennis or football. 

“do you ever miss it?” you ask suddenly, not sure where the question even comes from. 

“miss what?” 

you swallow. “being unknown.” 

he’s quiet. so are you. 

“… yeah,” he says after a long moment. “sometimes.” 

and you both fall quiet again, but this time the silence feels different. not empty. just heavy. like it carries too much. 

you glance at him again, searching for something familiar. “you still suck at texting?” 

his expression doesn’t change. “horrible,” he admits, pulling out his phone anyway. “but give me your number.” 

you blink. “you still have it.” 

“just checking it hasn’t changed.” 

your phone buzzes. a message. 

[ don’t ghost me this time. ] 

you snort under your breath, tapping back. 

[ only if you don’t disappear first. ] 

he finally, finally smiles. it’s small. barely there. but it’s real. 

you don’t know what this means. you don’t know if this is closure or a second beginning or just a quiet moment borrowed from the past. but when the night winds down and people begin to leave, you and rin are still sitting in the corner of the ballroom, side by side, knees brushing beneath the table. he’s talking about how much he hates post-game interviews. you’re laughing about the time you accidentally cursed in three languages during a press conference. and it feels easy. right. like the world stopped being loud just long enough to let you both exist in it again. 

when you lean your head on his shoulder, he doesn’t move away. and when he tilts his head to rest lightly against yours, you pretend not to notice the way your heart stumbles. 

there’s still time, you think. 

you both just forgot how to serve the first ball. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[bllushbunniie]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Pas de Deux ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

~Part One~

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ Y/N is a Principle Ballerina, she meets Aaron Hotchner and the team in unfortunate circumstances ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ⋆౨ৎ

Y/N loved routines. The daily routine of being awoken by her fluffy cloud of a cat begging for her breakfast, followed by her breakfast of oatmeal and strawberries.

Then came her stretching routine- rolling out her entire body on a foam roller, warming her up for the hard work day to come.

Slow but structured mornings allowed Y/N to be in her best form all of the time. Muscles prepped and primed, mind connected to her body.

'I'll see you later, little baby!' Y/N squished her cat goodbye as she picked up her bag she'd prepared the night before. The night before was spent covered in in thread, nails and wood- Y/N had spent 3 hours preparing a whole 5 sets of new pointe shoes for this upcoming week.

She loved the procedure of tailoring shoes, methodical, slightly violent at times- she'd scared her cat Marzipan with whacking the box of the shoe off of her floor but the thought of herself floating on stage with these shoes was all that was filling her mind.

'Sorry baby!! Your mummy has to get these all ready for auditions tomorrow'. Quickly retrieving the spooked cat from under her coffee table.

‘I've trained really hard you know, Marzi... I just hope it all pays off'. Y/N sets her kitten on her lap and continues to darn her shoes.

Y/N had stuck to a strict schedule over these past few weeks to build stamina. Giselle was such an athletic, agile role and she knew that she had what it took to pull it off. Well, not just pull it off, to excel. But she had some competition with some of the other great principles in her ballet company.

The company environment was a fulfilling and productive one most of the time, but there was an underlying anxiety that flowed through the Corps, to the Soloists to the Principals. Y/N snorts at herself, anxiety wasn't the word. It was more of an uneasiness.

Something, anything could happen- a dancer could fall and end up with a life changing injury, two partners could fall in love and fall out of love, teachers could abuse and give ultimate congratulations. Yeah, definitely uneasiness she thought.

Commuting to the studio was a lovely experience. Y/N loved how close she lived to it, and how scenic the route was, especially now it was summer. It also didn't help it was absolutely sweltering weather- the perfect weather to keep her muscles nice and warm.

'Miss, I'm going to have to stop you there'

An arm blocked her from rounding the corner to the studio.

Y/N didn't even time to think before she stumbled back.

There was a dozen police vehicles and an ambulance dispersed throughout the entrance of the company building. What an earth had gone on?

'Y/N over here!'

Y/N's eldest friend, Anne, ushered her over to the group of her colleagues.

‘What is-‘

'Okay, so all we know is' Anne immediately interrupted Y/ N, Anne always loved a gossip.

'-all we know is that someone died in the building last night.’

'Died?!'

'Y/N keep your voice down!' A panicked hush came from Arthur, her dance partner.

Whispers of brief and uniformed explanations were exchanged throughout the group.

It was determined a minute later that something suspicious had gone on. Nobody was allowed to enter the building apart from law enforcement or medical aid.

And, worst of all, they'd brought out a body bag about an hour earlier.

~

'Something is wrong here, Serg'

An officer pulled up his superior. Throughout their inspection, law enforcement had found the usual pieces of evidence. They knew once they had responded to the call and found the body, it was foul play.

An older man lay dead, pooled in his own blood, multiple entry wounds. Room half burnt, air filled with smoke.

Their depth as dealt with this type of crime before, but suddenly, it was anything but typical.

It was a personal kill, a murder of a teacher-

For heavens sake... catch me before I kill more I cannot control myself, recited the officer. A letter stamped on the crime scene, a plea and a confession rolled into one.

'I think we need to call in the FBI, Serg'

It'd been a while since the BAU had been called out. A period of anomaly. Usually there's always a case that needs solving, too many evil actions going on, people trying to be clever and create as much havoc as possible.

Aaron was enjoying this period of anomaly.

But he knew it'd never last long. Something as horrific and puzzling would rear its ugly head. The next day, his suspicions were proven correct.

The team had been called out to a big city, but specifically a dance studio.

Interesting...he'd never experienced such a crime scene in such an environment.

Aaron took out his pen and paper before showing the team the informational pack. It was particularly puzzling to him as to why they don't usually get called out to such establishments.

He wrote down such pointers as:

'Passionate, expressive people'

'Possible authority problems'

'Rigorous physical exercise'

He's sure the team could put together more complex points.

'Did you know a ballerina can carry up to three times her body weight on the tip of her big toe? Oh! And they burn about 1,000 calories an hour?'

Spencer, as per usual, was reciting little bits of information. He was treating it as some new exciting corner of the world when in fact an awful murder had taken place.

'Man, I don't know whether or not I'll be too busy checking out the pretty girls or I'll feel to emasculated-you say they carry how much in just their toe?!'

'Morgan, that's totally inappropriate! A dance teacher was murdered and you're thinking about all the ballerinas you can bed?!'

Aaron was thankful Elle caught Derek up on that little quip, the team had been a little too enthusiastic to take this case. They all knew the world of ballet was prestigious and pretty. A lot different from their usual dingy and dirty sorts of places. This dance studio was famous, famous for producing great athletes, the world's best dancers with productions millions around the world wish to see.

Aaron was just focused on the job, as he usually was.

Aaron led the investigation, but for once, the local police department were quite helpful. Everyone was in agreement that this specific killer could be a number of people: teachers, students, parents. But one thing was for sure, it was going to happen again unless they caught them. They were a passion filled person, their brain clearly had them in attack mode, but what did they want so much they had to kill to have?

'I want to interview the dancers. I need to know what life is like here, what's going on- I heard they've just finished auditions for the next big production?'

Aaron spoke his mind to the team, he was insinuating that there could be potential tension with auditions. But other than that, he needed to really gauge how everyone feels, how everyone acts.

‘I want everything running as usual, the UnSub is likely to back down when they're not in a high stress environment’

~

'They want to interview me?! Why me?’, Anne was immediately startled by the implication she was involved somehow.

‘They're talking to everyone Annie, try not worry too much’

Y/N had found out a little information from Miss Sylvie, being a Principle gave her some privileges, including closer, personal relationships with teachers and staff.

Miss Sylvie was absolutely beside herself when Y/N caught up with her. She was pacing outside of the staff entrance, so Y/N thought it would probably best to try and console her. Miss Sylvie was a passionate woman, she almost always had tears in her eyes after the adage set of barre. Y/N would've found it comical if she didn't relate heavily. Miss Sylvie had called Y/N a 'kindred spirit' often whilst they were together, they had an excellent student-teacher relationship.

Y/N remembers when she first joined their company, she was so young, only 17, all the passion inside but needed to find a way to let the passion display outwards. That's when she discovered videos of the one of the company's ballet masters dancing as Giselle back in 1980.

Who knew death could look so elegant? Y/N thought to herself as she watched Miss Sylvie in her athletic prime, using practiced strength and power to make her float through the air like a feather. For a moment, Y/N forgot this wasn't real, like she wasn't watching Giselle reluctantly lure Albrecht to his death, Y/N knew the story but she found herself hoping that this time the Queen of the Wilis would take pity on the couple.

Gosh, if it hurt Y/N by watching it on a screen, she couldn't imagine how Miss Sylvie felt dancing it.

From then on, she hung on every single one of Miss Sylvie's corrections, even ones that weren't directed towards her.

'Sam, softer hands please! Softer! Even softer!'

'Ladies, I don't want to see your concentration faces, I need passion!'

‘Y/N, if you're going to hit those 32 fouettés, I need a stronger core from you!'

Within a couple of years, Y/N had climbed the ranks from corps, to soloist and now to principle. The cherry on top was the friend she gained in Miss Sylvie.

'Y/N, they're.. they're going to talk to everyone and... god.. what are we going to do, what am I going to do?'

Reaching up and around her, Y/N engulfed her in a soothing hug, the older woman turning to sobs.

'It's Roberto, Y/N, they set.. the set fire to him. They stabbed him... tried to... tried to hide what they did... oh god Y/N.

~

'We've left these guys till last' explained JJ, 'these are the top ranking dancers, probably know a lot more about the relationships between everyone, definitely a lot more about Roberto’

'Could one of these be the UnSub?' Elle questioned.

'Particularly likely, these dancers are passionate, competitive, compulsive. It's why they're at the top. Reid bounces back.

Aaron already knew this, and he knew he'd be the one interviewing them. This required meticulous questioning, and someone with years of experience.

'Morgan you can interview. Send the first in please.’

After a few hours, all he found were dancers full of sorrow and upset. He saw in each of their eyes, the dread that filled them when he let them know that this wasn't over, they must keep vigilant.

'Is there anyone who held any sort of grudge towards Roberto? Anyone who had recently been snubbed with the casting?'

"Most of the company don't know about the castings, Sir.’

Anne was trying to keep her head clear, but she was worried. This was something close to her. Roberto, Miss Sylvie, the rest of the soloists and principles, she saw everyday- it's only a small pool of people, she must know something.

'I'm... I'm trying really hard Agent, I'm sorry I can't give you much more. But ever since this has happened, I'm just getting an awful feeling that it's someone I know, or someone close to my circle. I've been feeling their tension... with the castings and emotions were running high with everyone but that's normal right?' she was babbling but she didn't care, she needed to make sure the Agent knew what was going on in her mind.

‘I just, I just don't want anything to happen to my friends’

"You're alright, Anne, we're done here, thank you for your time.’

Morgan terminated the interview, giving Hotch a ~shrug~ and a head shake even though they couldn't see eachother through the glass.

This was the most information he had gained all day.

And it got Aaron thinking. Who's the main character in this story? Who does everyone envy? It has to be about the woman who was playing Giselle.

Sylvie has made the BAU aware that the dancers had yet to see the announcements of castings.

They were going to announce it at the beginning of next week.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, this probably meant another trigger event for the Unsub.

He needed to speak to their Giselle, he needed to know everything about Y/N.

-

Y/N was summoned to the interview room a few hours later.

Aaron had prepped his mind for more of a rigorous interview, this.. Y/N.. has to be the key to breaking through this case.

He was leading this one. He'd kept himself out of the sight of the dancers and staff members intentionally. He knew keeping some things hidden from the sight of the UnSub would allow him to act like a fly on the wall.

He has his eyes focused on the questions in front of him, focus broken by the door opening.

The urge to fix his tie drifted over him as she walked in.

He didn't even know it was possible to enter a room and sit down on a chair so gracefully.

'Good evening, Y/N. Before we start, I want to let you know that due to information we've gathered for your peers, we've deduced that you may be a core component in this investigation.’

Her?

'Please don't panic, Y/N' Aaron's voice descending into a hushed, calm tone.

'No harm will come to you, we're making sure of it. We have a few ideas- keeping you guarded at all times is a must.’

‘I'm friends with everyone here, Agent, we all work so hard together. I just can't believe anyone would..’

Y/N felt like a rug had been pulled from under her. This was her home, how could it become so unsafe?

‘I understand but I need you to think really hard for me, has there been any nasty comments, any shoes misplaced....?'

'No, absolutely nothing.’ Y/N quickly responded, eyes wide, searching Agent Hotchner's face for any emotion.

She doesn't think she's seen such a stoic face before.

But his eyes, his eyes were filled with something. It was like they were asking for something.

'But! But you could come and shadow me whilst we take class. I know l've not given you much to go off, but to be honest Agent, you've really frightened me’

Shakily pulling out her timetable from her jacket pocket, she unfolded it and presented it to the Agent.

He assured her he wouldn't interfere with her work-day, he'll try to stay out of sight as much as possible. Luckily enough, there were windows with a privacy film as to not distract the dancers, so he'd be able to observe the class' true behaviour.

'Like I mentioned earlier, you could be at risk, so please, if anything seems suspicious to you, come straight to me or the team.’

He was professional when talking Y/N through their plans.

He was going to be her personal guard for the foreseeable future. He needed to know where she was at all times, he wanted to analyse the interactions she had.

It all needed to be discreet however, he'll keep his distance, for the most part.

But he felt something else, something deeper. He couldn't show this in his disposition but the way she was shrinking into herself throughout their interview had him wanting to soothe her. He knew this wasn't her usual self.

Of course he'd done his research beforehand.

Y/N was a popular figure in ballet. Aaron and his team had scoured the internet to find production videos, interviews, anything to help them build profiles.

Y/N stood out to him. You could see she was going to be a star even when she was in the background of dance, she wasn't supposed to be focus of the stage but she was.

She was putting the soloist to shame, no wonder she rose to the top of the company so quickly.

She was captivating, athletic, beauti...

Aaron tried his best to not let his thoughts wander, he was a professional after all; there was a criminal to catch.

He would be stupid to not bury these feelings, he'd be putting everyone at risk if his head wasn't screwed on right.

~

'Marzi! Where are you, baby?'

Y/N dropped her bag full of shoes and warm-up gear on the floor, searching for her only source of comfort away from dance.

Marzipan was still fast asleep when Y/N approached her.

She gently picked her up and cuddled her as the little kitty woke up. After 12 hours, it finally felt like she could breathe.

She was finally freed from relentless questioning and eerie atmosphere of the day.

So many questions were running through her head.

Why the fuck are they allowing the company to keep running as usual?

She loves her job but, oh god, a teacher was murdered and now they think they're after her?! Shouldn't she be in protection?

How was she going to deal with Agent Hotchner guarding her flat for the foreseeable future?

Peering out of her window to see his unmarked car across the street, she couldn't see any movement from inside of it, but she knew he was out there vigilantly protecting her.

And why does he have to be so handsome?

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ⋆౨ৎ

a/n: it’s here!!

please, if you have any storyline recommendations, let me know!

if you wanna chat about ballerina!reader, let’s do it!! let’s build her world up!! ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

I’ll start writing part 2 this week so send as many asks as you’d like!♡

[bones4thecats]

Can I request headcanons for how would Akaza, Gyutaro, Gyomei Himejima, Giyuu Tomioka, and Kyojuro Rengoku reacting to his shy gn s/o asking him if you can kiss his cheek when both of you are alone please?

↳ The Shy and the Bold II.

A Demon Slayer × Gender Neutral! Reader.

Other Parts: The Shy and the Bold I.

Requester: Anonymous.

Characters Included: Akaza, Gyutaro, Gyomei Himejima, Giyuu Tomioka, and Kyojuro Rengoku.

●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●

❄️ Akaza loved seeing you flustered almost as much as he loved fighting worthy opponents. Though, it was easier to fluster you than to find good fighters, so. ❄️ Anytime he'd hug you, he'd chuckle as your cheeks lit up in a color similar to a cherry blossom and then become similar to his hair.

❄️ But, while he would hug you anytime he wanted, kissing was something he'd keep away for longer, finding it to be more for close couples than just-beginning ones. ❄️ When he first kissed your cheek, his fangs showed as he laughed as you continued to darken in shades of red. Rather than letting your face show, you continued to bury into his chest. ❄️ A while later, you hugged his arm; pressing your lips against it and catching his attention suddenly. His yellow irises narrowed as your lips left his bicep and your cheek nuzzled against it instead. ❄️ A small smile appeared on the Uppermoon's face as he sighed, I'm happy you're comfortable around me now, love. He thought.

🩸 Gyutaro and you both had hard lives because of your differences; him for his physical appearance, and yours for your extreme shyness. 🩸 While others didn't like your shyness, Gyutaro loved it. He would happily leave his sister's body in order to spend time with you. Daki would merely watch from the rooftop as her brother spoke to you, and while she wouldn't show it, she'd be happy he finally found someone to bond with. 🩸 Now, physical affection was never his strong suit. He mainly relied on words of affirmation, acts of service, and giving gifts. It was his preference, so you didn't mind. He respected you, you respected him. 🩸 But, one day was rough. A demon serving the siblings had tried attacking you, and only stopped when Daki grabbed him from behind and began torturing him for trying to attack you. 🩸 As you heard his screams from a ways away, Gyutaro's arms wrapped around your midsection and held you close. "Are you okay?" He asked. 🩸 Feeling you press your lips against his cheek, his face erupted in a blush. "Yeah... thanks to you and Daki."

🪨 Gyomei, much like Kagaya, really wishes he could see the flush that can cover your cheeks whenever he gave you affection. But, whenever he feels your cheeks and the heat rises, he thinks that makes up for it well enough. 🪨 He also enjoys physical affection, viewing actions over words. So, anytime he kisses your head, he feels like he's doing more than what it words can do. 🪨 "Dear?" He asked as he walked into the estate. Gyomei had returned from a week-long mission, and all he wanted at the moment was to embrace you in his strong arms. 🪨 You cheered his name and jumped into his arms. Thankfully, he caught you in time and felt his eyebrows jump upwards when your lips pressed gently against his forehead scar. 🪨 He let out a breathy laugh and kissed your forehead back. "I missed you just as much, my love."

🌊 Giyuu found your shyness relatable. He didn't exactly relate to your tendency to flush and hide away from others, but rather your dislike for attention and preference to be in the shadows. 🌊 He's not a huge physical person, so kisses aren't very constantly coming in your relationship, but they're not rare either. An example of that is when he comes back from work, he likes to give you a hug and a quick peck on the top of your head. 🌊 The Water Hashira knew your boundaries, so he never wished to pressure you into reciprocating his affections. 🌊 It was after training with Sanemi that Giyuu saw how you acted with Nezuko, a gentle smile on your face as you kept teaching her some words to help out. She laughed as you booped her nose and asked if she'd like some mochi, sending her off to grab some from Mitsuri in the kitchen. 🌊 Strolling up to you both, he wrapped an arm around your waist. Leaning his face into the crook of your neck. "Good afternoon, dewdrop." 🌊 Facing him, you smiled and kissed his cheek. His cheeks erupted in a blush, and he looked away swiftly, causing a giggle to come out of your mouth. "And I thought I was the shy one." You teased.

❤️‍🔥 Kyojuro is known for his eccentric and fun-loving attitude, a smile ever present to lighten whoever he comes across' day. That was one of the things you fell in love with about him. ❤️‍🔥 Because of his happy persona, Kyojuro absolutely adores to give you hugs and kisses galore. He says he can "see his future within your embrace and its as bright as the sun during summertime." ❤️‍🔥 At the time, he was busy healing from a mission. He had been given a gash on his side that needed close observing from risk of infection from a demon. Because of the risk, he was forced to stay at the Butterfly Mansion for a weeks time. ❤️‍🔥 You walked inside with Kanao guiding you. She smiled and nodded when you thanked her, walking outside to give you privacy. ❤️‍🔥 "Kyojuro?" You asked. "Little flame!" He cheered. "How have you been? I hope the house is perfectly fine during my absence." ❤️‍🔥 "It has. But, are you okay? I heard you got hit pretty bad." You replied, petting his hair as he hummed and smiled. ❤️‍🔥 "I am quite alright. Better now that you are here." He said. Leaning down towards him, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. His face has a slight flush appear afterwards. ❤️‍🔥 He then jumped up and hugged you. "I love you very much, my love." ❤️‍🔥 "I love you too, Kyo'."

🌊 Copyright © 2025 by Bones4thecats on Tumblr. All Rights Reserved. 🌊

[justiceforplutoo]

The Corroded Coffin boys having no clue about the Upside Down making Steve and Eddie's interactions appear 10x gayer...? My Roman Empire.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course."

"No, really," and Steve looks up through his eyelashes at Eddie. "Are you...okay?"

Eddie gives Steve the softest smile the boys have ever seen anywhere even near Eddie's face. Ever. It's not a performance, like it usually is, but it's a true, genuine smile, just for the two of them. Gareth looks away, flustered.

Jeff just stands there, slightly bewildered, and turns to Freak. "You think they're...?"

Freak nods absentmindedly. "Yeah, you know...yeah."

Steve calls Eddie randomly during their late night hangouts with a thought he had? The boys share raised eyebrows.

They know each other's favourite songs but Eddie can't even remember any of theirs? Very suspicious.

Eddie knows Steve's work hours and calls to make sure he got home safely? Strange things are afoot at the family video.

Things only escalate from there. Steve's making his way upstairs (to grab a bandaid for Eddie, who absolutely does NOT need a bandaid for a papercut) and Jeff stops him in the hallway.

"Listen, man, I just wanna know what's going on between you and Eddie."

Steve's face is the picture of innocence. "...what?"

Jeff sighs and scrubs his face. "I mean, I hate to, like, out you like this, but I just don't want Eddie getting hurt, you know? I mean, he's been through a lot--"

"I know," Steve interjects.

Jeff glares at him. "You realize it's, like, obvious to everyone around you both that something is definitely going on between you two? I'm just saying, there's a real possibility that someone could see that and accidentally make the right assumption. It's just dangerous, where we live, you kn--"

"Oh my God."

"Yeah, I know," Jeff nods solemnly, "It's really frustrating that you have to--"

"Jeff, oh my God. I didn't know."

"It's okay, we all make m--"

Steve looks shell shocked by this small nugget of information. Jeff had heard rumours from the kids of possible brain damage, and he'd never thought they might be true before, but he was starting to suspect it now.

"Are you okay? You look a little--"

Steve looks up at him. "Jeff, I'm queer. I like men. I like Eddie."

Jeff pauses. "...I know...?"

Steve mock-screams at him. "I didn't!"

Oh. Oh...? Oh.

"What am I supposed to do? Oh God, Jeff, he's right there, oh--"

Eddie peeks around the corner with a look of concern painting his concerning enough features. "Is everything alright? Are you okay? Is it--"

Steve sniffs roughly, looking at the floor with mild interest. "Eddie, I need to talk to you."

Eddie wastes no time in coming up to Steve's side. "What's u--mmh."

And then Steve's kissing him.

It's kind of like watching two trains crash into each other but one train is your best friend since middle school and the other is this guy he used to hate but now it's complicated, but it's not really complicated, they're just madly in love, but it's weird because Jeff still remembers that one time Eddie stepped on Steve's lunch by accident and Steve just yanked him so hard he fell off of the table.

Jeff has never really understood what those romance books meant when they said "two tongues fighting for dominance" but suddenly, he got it now.

"I think I'm Buddha," Jeff said, still staring at the train wreck that was Steve and Eddie's tongues fighting for dominance.

"What?" Eddie looked over at him, a trail of spit connecting his mouth to Steve's. Jeff wanted to bleach his eyeballs. Jeff wanted to spread his enlightenment.

"I said I'm going to go now. You guy stay safe." Jeff's voice did not sound like his own voice anymore. "Use protection and all that."

Jeff didn't think they heard him, but he didn't really wanna turn around and find out.

"Hey, man! ...are you...okay?" Gareth asked worriedly.

"Steve didn't know that he was gay. Until just now. When I told him."

The three of them just sat there for a moment. Something thumped upstairs, and then there was a lot of laughing echoing down the stairs.

"You wanna go to my place and watch Grease?" Freak suggested.

All three of them were out of the door before the end of that sentence.

[lush-escape]

A Seal Upon Thine Heart

Chapter 3

pairing: knight!Jason Todd x princess!reader wc: 1.7k a/n: sorry for taking so long to update, the AO3 writers curse hit me lmaooo anyway to make up for it here's some very mild suggestiveness 💛

Chapter 2

The spring air was cool and crisp as the breeze wandered through your open bedroom windows. With a sigh you sat at the bench in front of one, propping your chin in your hand. The palace, the entire kingdom, was long asleep at this point, aside from the few guards that stood at the palace’s entrance. Torches gave off warm, dim lighting across the grounds.

You were restless and anxious with the May Day celebration coming up soon. The quiet in your room felt like it would swallow you whole along with your racing thoughts. Finally making a decision you stand and gather your night dress so it wouldn’t drag across the ground.

Slowly, quietly, you open your bedroom door and peer out into the empty dark hallway. Perfect, you think to yourself. No one is there to stop you or scold you or send you back to your room. 

Closing your door behind you, you silently tip-toe down the hall, the cold stone numbing your feet as you went along. It was thrilling - sneaking out, going against the rules. You didn’t have a certain destination in mind only knowing that you wanted out of your suffocating room.

Only you don’t get to make it far at all. 

You’re about to round a corner when you come in contact with a hard metal chestplate. Large hands come up to grasp your arms to keep you from falling over, you gasp in surprise.

“Princess.”

You’re instantly flooded with warmth at the sound of Jason’s voice. Smooth and low in the silence of the night. A deep soothing timbre that makes your chest feel as though you’re being wrapped in warm fleece.

“Knight.” You greet in response. You look up to see Jason smiling warmly down at you.

“Sneaking out?” He asks with a raised brow.

“I would never.” You respond as you straighten, folding your hands in front of you. Prim, proper. “It’s-”

“Unbecoming of a lady.” Jason finishes with a knowing glint in his eyes. Your smile grows and you nod in response. “Allow me to escort you back to your room, Princess.” He holds his arm out for you. If your father knew about this he would have Jason’s head, and possibly yours as well.

You loop your arm through his, your hand resting on the shiny cold metal of his armor. It’s smooth against your finger tips that find a divot in the metal. You want to ask how he got it, what had happened to pierce his armor, but instead you tell him, “What a gentleman of a knight you are.”

“Aye, only the best for you, Princess.”

He stops at the threshold of your bedroom and watches silently as you step across the invisible boundary. The line that separates you from everyone else in the kingdom. You turn to face him and while you know it’s wrong you still ask-

“Join me?”

Jason feels as though he’s going to choke on his saliva at your request.

“I cannot, Princess. You know the rules.” He answers. He wants to tell you yes, that he will do anything you ask of him even if it means laying his life on the line. But he knows he can’t. You actually roll your eyes at him in response.

“The rule that only my future husband may enter my chambers?” You huff in annoyance. “Such a stupid rule.” 

Jason looks at you like he agrees but doesn’t say anything. To go against the King was not how Jason was raised, trained.

“Please? I do not want to be alone with myself.” You look at him so innocently Jason thinks he might melt into a puddle at your feet.

“I cannot.” He repeats. “Have a good night, Princess.” He slowly closes your door but you stop him before he can. Your hand is on the heavy wooden door keeping it open. Your eyes are pleading when you look up at him.

“If you will not join me…” You begin quietly, “do not close my door. I wish for it to remain open.” Jason stares at you in thought. He knows you well enough now to know that you’re up to something, some scheme that will make him regret every decision he’s ever made up until this point.

“The King-” He begins to tell you that your father would not want your door to be kept open, especially at night.

“It is to remain open.” You tell Jason more firmly. With a low exhale he relents and nods. 

“Aye, Princess.” He mumbles under his breath. You nod once and turn your back to him to walk back to your bed. 

With slow, calculated steps, you begin to untie the ribbon at the top of your chemise. As it loosened you let it slide down your shoulder. Jason swallows as he watches, thick and loud. His hands tremble at his sides. You turn your head enough to look at him over your bare shoulder and your stomach flips at the way he’s looking at you.

“Princess….” It’s a quiet warning, soft and low, barely a murmur. You let the soft fabric slip down your other shoulder and in an instant Jason is stepping through your doorway.

You take in a quiet but sharp breath as the sound of your door closes and in an instant his hands are covering your shoulders with his chest against your back. The metal sends a cold shock through your spine and your hands tighten on your night dress.

“Jason-” You breathe out.

“A princess should not undress herself in front of an open door.” His tone is low, right next to your ear - it sends a chill down your arm. You let your eyes flutter shut. “What if someone unworthy to see you in such a state were to walk by?”

“There is no one here but you.” You respond quickly. You open your eyes to look at him over your shoulder, your noses so close they were almost touching.

“Exactly.” He retorts softly.

“Are you saying you’re unworthy?”

“Yes.” He swallows. But his hands are still on your shoulders and you want nothing more than to feel his skin against your own.

“That is a lie. There is no one more worthy.” 

His hands leave you long enough to let you turn and face him before they’re on you again. With a quiet inhale to ground yourself you place your shaking hands on Jason. Your left hand on his shoulder, your right on the back of his neck. Jason closes his eyes to ground himself. A warm fire begins to ignite low in his stomach. He swallows and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. 

“Please, Princess…” Slowly he reopens his eyes. “If the king finds out-” he leans forward until his forehead presses against yours.

“He won't.” You assure him. But you can never be fully certain. You both know that if anyone were to catch wind of what you were doing with your knight, Jason was sure to be executed. You and Jason both knew that singular fact and yet he’s willing to risk his life for you in more ways than he should.

Your lips are soft against his chapped ones but your movements are tentative, as if you're carefully testing. While Jason has had his fair share of experience this was the most intimate you've ever been with a person.

With closed eyes and noses that bump together Jason claims your lips with his own with his hands on your waist. He carefully guides you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your bed. Hesitant to break the kiss he lowers you down with a gentleness that even Jason himself didn't know he was capable of.

“This is wrong,” he states simply as his mouth trails your neck, hot and wet and needy.

“And you think I care?” Your head tilts back. The coil that's formed in your stomach is tightly wound like a bowstring that's ready to snap.

“How am I to guard you from danger if I'm in here?” He asks in return. He's moving from the column of your throat down to your chest.

“Perhaps I am the danger you need to be guarding me from.” You joke. Jason nips softly at the valley between your breasts before shaking his head.

“You are quite dangerous.” He smirks up at you. 

You watch as Jason stands straight to, as quietly as possible, remove his chest plate of armor and gloves, setting them down beside your bed. The heat in your stomach grows when you catch sight of his collarbone from underneath his tunic that looks sizes too small for his broad shoulders.

“Do you trust me, Princess?” He asks before standing between your legs. He keeps his voice low to not draw attention from any stray guard or bed maiden that might be wandering the halls.

With a shaky nod you respond, “Of course. With my life.” Jason's sure his heart is full enough to burst.

Slowly, with his eyes glued to your own, he sinks to his knees between your legs. He's grabbing at the hem of your night dress, pulling it up and over your knees to display thighs that are already trembling. You squeeze your eyes shut in anticipation.

“Have I ever told you, Princess-” he kisses your inner thigh, right next to your knee, “how beautiful I think you are?” He murmurs against your skin. He plants another soft kiss further up, large hands pooling your night dress at your hips.

“Y-yes… you have.” You breathe out.

“Good.” Another kiss. He's so close to your wet center that you'd squeeze your thighs together if he wasn't holding them open.

“Have I ever shown you how beautiful I think you are, Princess?” He rubs the tip of his nose against your sensitive bundle of nerves. You clasp a hand over your mouth to stifle your building moan. You shake your head no.

“No-” you choke out behind your hand, “no, you haven't.” Jason inhales deeply and nods, creating a delicious friction that your hips reflexively try to chase.

“Good.”

taglist: @vellichor01 @thy-crimson-king @tinasdcstuff @delulupunk @soulsforsales